


Scattered On My Shore

by AetherAria



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: (for the three of them. it's established r/d), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Injury Recovery, Lizard Kissin' Tuesday (Penumbra Podcast), Multi, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Second Citadel (Penumbra Podcast), Slow Burn, canon typical Arum ignoring feelings, for damien and arum eventually lol, this will also be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-29 21:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 90,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21416779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AetherAria/pseuds/AetherAria
Summary: Strange things wash up out of the lake near Rilla's hut, on occasion. But this monster... this monster is certainly the strangest.
Relationships: Lord Arum & The Keep, Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla (Penumbra Podcast), Sir Damien/Rilla (Penumbra Podcast)
Comments: 401
Kudos: 297





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Like most of my nonsense, this starts with a what-if. What if, instead of having Arum use the Moonlit Hermit after he found it, the Senate decided to take it for themselves instead? And what if Arum was injured and separated from the Keep in the altercation? Also, yes, I'm starting another au multichapter. Yes, I know I'm terrible.
> 
> Title from Bright Star, by Eliza Rickman.

The monster is barely conscious before he starts trying to escape.

Rilla doesn’t really _blame_ the poor thing. If it were her, she’d be pretty upset to wake up in a stranger’s house at all, let alone a stranger who is theoretically on the opposite side of a war. He’s too injured to do much, though. He tries to crawl out of the cot only once that first day, but he’s in too much pain to even push the sheets off of his lower half, and he ends up pulling the bandages off of a cut on his midsection that Rilla already dealt with, before he passes back out from the pain. It’s easy to get him back onto the cot after he falls, though, and the few times he wakes after that, he can’t do much else at all besides writhe weakly, grumbling denials and hissing and ineffectually snapping his teeth as she disinfects his wounds, his bright purple eyes unfocused and likely barely even seeing her. She doubts he’ll remember most of this, between the pain and the painkillers and the exhaustion that comes along with these sorts of injuries.

She lies to Damien about what she’s working on when he stops by in the afternoon. She lies, about why she’s too busy to spend time with him today. She hates doing it, of course, but she knows damn well that if Damien learns that there’s a _monster_ in her examination room he’ll flip his lid entirely. It won’t matter that the monster is about as threatening as a kitten in his current state- Damien will just kill him, doubtless, and at the very least Rilla is determined to get some useful data out of this, even if she isn’t sure she’ll be able to save this creature.

(She knows that instinct is treasonous, too. The instinct to save, even despite the fact that this is a _monster_ she’s talking about. She knows that- she just doesn’t care. She’s been exiled before. The idea doesn’t scare her any more than her new patient does. And he’s _unique_, one of a kind. She’s not sure she’s seen his like in any of her research before, or in any of the stories Damien has told, she can’t just let a creature like that die without a fight. And even near incoherent she can tell that he’s not some _mindless horror_, he’s _sentient_. He’s sentient, and he’s scared and in pain and this is her _job_-)

He looks as if he’s taken one hell of a beating, been sliced open a couple times, and then nearly drowned to boot. And, well, that last part makes enough sense, considering that she dragged him out of the lake. She’d been watching the lapping shore warily after that whole lungfish incident, which is probably the only reason she actually spotted him, a bedraggled waterlogged tangle of limbs half-buried in the murky shore.

To Rilla’s eyes, the injuries don’t look like they were inflicted by knights, which was her initial assumption. No, Rilla is too familiar with monster-inflicted damage to miss the obvious on _this_ one. She could speculate on that, on the reasons why monsters might in-fight, on what this particular monster must have done to earn that much ire, but it really would be pointless, and she has better directions in which to aim her mind.

When she’s done all she can to clean and wrap the more serious injuries on his torso and shoulders and midsection, she tries to clean the damage done to his frill (fascinating, the structure of him, the anomalous jigsaw of lizard and snake and bird and bug pieces that come together in his body-) and his eyes fly open suddenly. He hisses sharp in clear pain, his body spasming against her exam room cot and one of his four hands raising weakly to paw at her wrist.

“N-” he manages, half the denial lost in a groan, and then he hisses something that _might_ be an attempt to say the word _stop_.

She lifts her hand away, just an inch, and lets his fingers curl loosely around her wrist.

“Hey, c’mon, try not to move. I’m not gonna hurt you,” she says. “I’m trying to help, and I don’t want this to get infected. I know it stings, but I need to do this.”

He strains again, tilting his head away from her, his mouth opening to let out a reedy exhale and showing his sharp-jagged teeth, and without thinking she reaches her other hand out. She drifts her knuckles gently across his forehead, soothing, and then she lets her hand stroke soft down his cheek and his scales are quite cool to her touch. Conversely, that must mean that her touch is quite warm to him. Which is probably the reason why he leans into it, pressing his eyes even more tightly closed with a low whirring whine.

“It’s gonna be okay,” she says. “I’m going to do everything I can.”

“Wh-_why_?” he chokes, moving his face just barely away from her hand, and there is so much _fear_ in his eye when it cracks back open and fixes on her, fear that’s trying _so hard_ to look like anger, but this monster is clearly too tired and in too much pain to maintain the veneer. “_Human_, why would you-”

His breath cuts into a horrible sort of gasp, eyes pressing closed again in pain.

“Shh, don’t try to talk if it hurts. And- and don’t waste your energy worrying about that part of it right now, either, okay?”

“N-no,” he gasps. “_Why_?”

“You were hurt,” Rilla says simply, and the monster shakes his head just slightly, grimacing through the motion.

“Am a _monster_,” he insists. “Some _trick_, some- _why_, human?”

“You were hurt,” Rilla repeats. “And I’m a doctor.”

Either that is enough of an answer, or the poor creature has simply expended what little is left of his energy, because the tension in him fades, his face sinking sideways so his cheek rests on her palm, and he falls unconscious again.

Rilla is terrible at lying to herself. So- she doesn’t try. She can _say_ this is about how unique he is, she can say it’s about the science and the things she can learn… but she knows that those reasons are small. She knows they’re the least of it. Especially now, especially having spoken to him, she knows that it’s gotten really, really simple in her mind.

Rilla is a doctor, and he’s injured and in her care.

(He’s so frightened, and in so much pain, and he is so entirely stunned that someone would bother to save him. His cheek rests on her hand and he almost looks small, asleep like that, his scales slowly picking up the radiant heat from her palm and his shallow breathing growing softer and steadier, and she feels a fierce sort of satisfaction at that, at the idea of soothing this pain away-)

He’s not a human. He’s a _monster_.

He is a monster, and Rilla is not going to let him die.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The monster should be on the mend. There are, however, one or two complications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with a lot of medical talk, there's some mention of blood and more specific descriptions of injury, and description of something close to surgery. There is also some talk in this that hints at some mild suicidal ideation, so if you’re sensitive to that tread with caution. Also if anyone with any knowledge of actual real life medical stuff reads this i am desperately sorry, i know virtually nothing. Forgive me for my nonsense..

It’s difficult to really stabilize the monster. And of _course_ it is- Rilla is essentially paddling with her hands. She’s reduced to guesswork (she _hates_ guesswork) and trial and error (which is slightly less irritating, but it’s certainly too goddamn risky when it comes to trying to save a life) and his body is already so strange that it’s hard to figure out what’s actually _damage_ and what’s just inherent to him.

One of his four (_four_) wrists is broken, but she notices that _late_ because his wrists turn so strangely in the first place (there must be a purpose to that; maybe he’s partially arboreal? That sort of range of motion would be useful for- no, focus, _focus_, Rilla-) and she doesn’t catch the jagged slackness of one among the four until he winces through trying to move it during one of his rare moments of consciousness.

That, too, is hit and miss, how aware he is at any given moment. It’s difficult to find a sedative that works. She doesn’t know much about _lizard_ sedation, let alone pseudo-lizard-snake-bird-dragon (potentially ashdragon, specifically) sedation, and he wakes at unexpected moments. Unexpected, and he is often still near-delirious when he rouses, still snapping ineffectually with his eyes rolling in instinctive panic and/or pain. Very, very occasionally he comes around to lucid, or close to lucid, and then he always fixes her with that frightened, suspicious violet gaze.

She tries to use those opportunities when they arise. If he can answer questions about his pain, she can at least get a better idea of what still needs mending. Or- she _would_ get a better idea, if the stubborn ass would answer any of her questions without complaining or deflecting or, yet again, _complaining_.

“Your _attention_ is both unwanted and unneeded, little human, and the very instant that I- _ha_,” he bursts into a whine, his throat whirring sharply as he pants, and he lifts a clawed hand to press weakly at his midsection.

“That one still hurts, then?”

“_All_ of it h-hurts, you _idiot_.”

“But the pain there is sharper? More acute?”

He hisses, then snaps his teeth ineffectually in her direction. “I- I will not be _patronized_,” he says in a snarl, and Rilla rolls her eyes and carefully finishes re-wrapping his wrist.

“Okay, okay,” she agrees gently. “Now, don’t move that any more than you have to, understood?”

Terrible patient. Just- _abysmally_ bad.

Though, oddly, he hasn’t made any move to actually hurt her.

She had been expecting things to get fairly bad on that front, if she’s being honest. Right at the start, when he was barely, _barely_ conscious, like absolutely tongue-lolling _out_ of it, she obviously wasn’t worried about attack beyond just accidentally catching herself on his limp claws.

But even as he comes more aware, even as he complains bitterly and tries, with unpredictable frequency and an utter lack of success or self-preservation, to slip from his bed and towards either the door or the window, he hasn’t tried to hurt her. He hasn’t tried to bite, though he snaps his teeth at her pretty much every time he’s awake. He hasn’t tried to claw her, though he pushes her hands away with a scowl when he’s lucid enough to do so.

It’s just odd, honestly. Not that she’s complaining. She’d rather not have to don falconer’s gloves just to redress his broken wrist or to check his pulse.

“I do _not_ need to be _mmf-_”

He cuts off as she presses the cup against his mouth, burying her smile in a stubborn frown.

“You can _barely_ lift your arms, let alone a glass. Drink. I don’t care if you’re embarrassed, you need to _hydrate_. Losing blood is no joke.”

“And _certainly_ you care about my hydration,” he says with a sneer, his teeth clinking against the clay. “You expect me to believe-”

“I expect you to believe that I’ve barely gotten any sleep in the last two days trying to keep you from _dying_, and I believe that you’re going to drink from this damned cup _right now_, actually, _yeah_.” She blows her frown out like a candle and smiles bright and dangerous instead. “_Drink_. Now. And shut up.”

He sneers, but she presses the cup against his mouth again and his tongue flicks out and he blinks, and she _sees_ the moment the big stubborn idiot realizes how thirsty he is, and then with very, very bad grace he lets her tip the cup until he can take a few long, slow swallows, his entire frame sagging in relief. He sighs when the cup is drained, and she can tell that _he__’s_ drained, too. More tired than she expects, at this point, but honestly it’s hard to tell with a monster. He’s half-dozing again before she’s lowered the cup.

He doesn’t _tell_ her that he’s cold. _That_ one is infuriating, actually. Might have something to do with the excessive fatigue, and she has to fold that idea into her other theories and speculations. She should have guessed, too, from the way he always unconsciously seems to lean into her touch. He gets furious when he notices himself doing so, and she’d been distracted from the actual possible causes of that by the way his snout wrinkles when he’s embarrassed. It’s- almost cute, in a weird sort of way.

Or it would be, if his frill didn’t try to flare when he’s embarrassed, too. It’s still torn, and it’s a very difficult part of the lizard to bandage, so every time he moves it without meaning to (partially conscious motion, or at least partially conscious control- he can move it at will, she thinks, but it also moves _reactively_, maybe in a similar way to blinking when startled), he exacerbates the edges of the tears, delays the progress of his recovery at least in that one small way for that much longer.

The cold, though: she notes his subconscious leaning towards her own skin, at first thinks that’s just some natural, biological response, and of _course_ she’s warmer than him and she assumes that warmth would be soothing for a lizard-type creature. She notes the way he tenses when the sheets of the cot are pulled away from him for the purpose of checking his injuries and redressing, and she assumes mostly that it’s just more of the embarrassment that he seems so prone to, more than anything. She puts the pieces together when he sighs in a rather dramatically satisfied way as she’s pulling the sheets back over him, though, and she blinks down as he eyes her suspiciously.

“Wait- hang on. Have you been cold this whole time?”

He frowns, ducking his head and burying his chin in the thin cloth. “Does it _matter_?”

Her mouth hangs open, too shocked by the stupidity of the question to even answer for a long moment. A really, _really_ long moment, actually. She stands up, and she leaves the room before the words find her again, because obviously, _obviously_-

She comes back with an armful of covers and quilts and he eyes her in alarm as she clomps back to the bedside and dumps the entire pile onto the cot, onto his legs, where her point will be made without the added gentle weight potentially pressing on his injuries.

“_There_,” she says, frowning. “Saints, I could have warmed you up _ages_ ago if you only _told_ me, you idiot.” She reaches into the pile and starts rearranging, layering the covers over him with systematic attention, the softer sheets lower and closer to him, the warmer heat-trapping layers on top.

“You- little _doctor_ do you really believe this necessary?”

“If you’re _cold_ it could be exacerbating your lethargy, which could interfere with your recovery,” she says with a sharp look. “_Or_, for all I know, it could be masking other symptoms. Next time, if something hurts or if there’s a way I can make you more comfortable, _tell me_.”

She pokes him in the tip of his snout lightly to emphasize her words, and he snarls automatically though his expression is more sheer surprise than anything, and he looks like he’s already settling into the heat, drifting sleepily down.

“I- I-”

“Don’t get embarrassed, don’t get all _haughty_, just _ask_. That’s what I’m here for. I can’t help you if you don’t _let_ me.”

“Could have fooled me,” he mutters, and she flicks him in the snout again. He- _laughs_, then, a breathy and stunned sort of nose, before he lifts a clumsy hand to rub the offended point. “You are _absurd_,” he says, and he sounds a little impressed.

“And _you_,” she says smugly, “aren’t cold anymore.”

Eventually, after every injury she’s certain of is at least somewhat accounted for, wrapped, disinfected, _dealt with_, she starts to feel like it’s just a game of waiting for his body to start to fix itself.

But days later, he doesn’t seem to be improving. Even when he comes out of the sedation, his fatigue and his pain are still severe, and it almost seems like he’s growing more confused and disoriented each time he wakes. His breathing continues to grow shallower, more labored, and his arms have taken to wracking spasms. It was just rare, at first, but the frequency is increasing. Muscle spasms, difficulty breathing, lethargy and confusion-

Most troubling: his scales are developing patches of sickly purplish red. Subtle, at first, and difficult to notice among the rest of his dark green and black mottling, but once she notices the first one slowly discoloring his upper left pectoral, she notices the rest fairly soon.

Symptoms suggest a likely cause of infection. Possibly septicemia. Potentially lethal, when he should, by rights, be on the mend.

Complication regarding that potential diagnosis: Rilla has already started the monster on antibiotics specifically to combat a burgeoning infection in one of the scrapes on his arm, one that was pretty wretched before she got her hands on it. So, if any of his other injuries managed to get infected before she had the chance to clean and wrap them, her treatments should already be mitigating it. This, however, is progressing instead of healing.

Which means that Rilla must have missed something.

Obviously that prospect is infuriating, but Rilla’s not going to deny facts just because they’re inconvenient. Somewhere, somehow, she made a mistake. She’ll have to fix that mistake if she’s going to make any of this better.

She is systematic. She redresses his wounds, carefully noting the progression of his recovery with each (to a one: _slow_), looking for evidence of discoloration, of odd smells or discharge, looking for anything at all more amiss than just the injuries themselves, anything that might prove to be the cause of the lizard’s lack of progress.

(He hasn’t given up. She knows that, at least. Knows that isn’t a possible cause. For all his complaints and sarcastic pleas for her to just end his humiliation, he is struggling towards life with a _fervor_, she can _see_ it. There’s something in his eyes- some fire, maybe, and Rilla knows that he hasn’t given up. He hasn’t- and she won’t either.)

One of the injuries on his midsection, a sloppy claw wound or possibly a bite from a strange angle, catches her attention. His progress is slow all around, but this one- it almost looks _worse_ that it did when she dressed it. The edges haven’t even begun to knit back together, and it hasn’t quite stopped bleeding in a slow, sullen sort of way.

While he’s out cold, she examines the area more closely, pressing incredibly careful fingers around the wound, taking samples of the blood to compare to others she’s taken in the last few days, trying to decide if she can actually distinguish necrotic scales from just _damaged_ ones with her current base of knowledge, but when she’s probing with her fingers she feels-

Something. She doesn’t want to press any harder than it takes just to feel the shape, but there is definitely _something_ very wrong in this particular injury. Something hard, and out of place. A piece of broken rib, maybe? No- no she doesn’t think it’s that. Maybe something more malicious. Her brain leaps to arrowhead, but it’s not that kind of wound, of course. Speculation is rarely helpful, though, and she knows that if she wants this injury (and hopefully the rest) to actually begin to improve, she’s going to have to-

Well. It’s essentially going to be surgery.

The next time he wakes, he’s even weaker. She can tell by the way the nictitating membranes stay flipped over his eyes defensively, fogging his bright violet back to a soft, concerning lavender. By the way he lifts a hand to bat at her wrist, and misses entirely. By the way he doesn’t even manage to pretend not to lean his cheek into her palm when she cups his face to make him look at her.

“Wh… _human_, what are you…”

“I know you don’t want to talk about what happened to you,” she says, voice firm but gentle, and after a moment he tenses. “I’m not going to ask, don’t worry, but I _do_ need to ask-”

“Not going to- to tell you _anything_-”

“Is there any chance that whatever attacked you could have left something behind in one of your wounds? The tip of a claw, or a tooth, or horn? Anything like that?”

His brow furrows, and he finally seems to focus on her fully, his foggy eyes flicking between her own. “It… it is _possible_, human, why-”

“Is there _any_ chance that there might be a poison or toxin involved as well?”

The membranes slide away from his eyes, finally, and he stares at her with narrowed violet diamonds as he pulls his face away from her hand. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, that is possible.” He inhales deeply, and the breath shakes out of him. “This protracted weakness. You believe-”

“It appears that there’s some foreign object stuck in one of your wounds, and you’re showing signs of infection or something _worse_,” she says, matter-of-fact. “I suspect it’s the cause of why you’ve been improving so slowly, and why it’s seemed like you’re about to start a backslide.”

“A foreign… object,” he repeats in a hiss. “_Excellent_. My injuries were… obviously not extensive enough _already_.”

“The _point_ is,” Rilla says, sighing, “that I think you’re going to continue to deteriorate, _unless_ the object is removed.”

He stares at her, blinks slowly, then raises one ridged eyebrow.

“Then it seems… your path is _clear_, does it not?” He pauses. “Unless, perhaps, this is precisely the excuse you were searching for, to allow the monster to _die_ with as little effort-”

“Don’t be an ass,” she says, quiet but sharp. “I’ve been treating you, and that started when you were barely alive, let alone conscious. Obviously I didn’t ask permission for any of that. I couldn’t. But this- this is gonna be surgery. I’ll have to sedate you, and anything like that- there’s always a risk of something going wrong. And it- it’s different, now. You’re awake. You know what’s going on. You know that I’m not trying to hurt you.”

He scoffs, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“I can _ask_, this time. If I don’t try to remove it, you’ll probably get worse, but there’s also a chance that trying to remove it could… could go wrong. So,” she straightens her spine, curls her lip into a wry half-smile, and meets the monster’s eye. “Do you want me to try? If you decide not to, I can- I can _try_ more aggressive pharmaceutical methods, but to be entirely honest I’m not optimistic that there’s anything I can change on that front that will make a difference, and-”

“Wh-what are you _doing_?”

Rilla blinks, watching the suspicious twisting of his face. “What do you mean?”

“_Asking_, human, what are you _asking_ for? Why pretend as if you _care_ about the input of a monster?”

“Be… because I _do_?”

He scoffs again. “_Ridiculous_. Don’t be absurd, if you think you can manipulate me into-”

“Hey, hey-” she reaches out, her fingers just barely, barely brushing the scales of his shoulder and startling him into a wordless hiss. “Don’t work yourself up. You’re already exhausted, you don’t want to make yourself even more tired.”

“I am _tired_, human, of you pretending as if-”

“I have a name, you know.”

He flinches, lips pressing together as he glares at her sulkily. “I do not care. And I do not care what you do with me, either. I will likely die either way, so I may as well leave it in the hands of the universe, even if the universe is acting through such absurd means.”

Rilla frowns, her heart pulling a little. “I’m not going to let you die. Not if I can do anything about it. Please, just- tell me what _you_ want me to do.”

He clenches his jaw tight, still frowning and not quite looking at her. “I told you. Do as you like.”

“No. No, that's not how this is going to work.” She frowns, brow furrowing stubbornly, and she meets his sharp eyes until he quails, glancing away. “What do _you_ want?”

He swallows, ducks his head, and she can see the turning of the gears in his mind for a long moment.

“I… I would rather die quick than slow, little human. If you believe there is some poison in me, and the attempt to remove it may destroy me, I would rather be destroyed in the attempt than in some painful, protracted helplessness.” He pauses, then aims his sharp, tired eyes up at her again. “There. You have your answer. Act as you will.”

“Okay,” Rilla says, and then she sighs. “Okay. That- honestly I’m glad you feel that way. And- and it’ll be better if we do this sooner rather than later. I’ll have to prepare a little bit, but- is that okay?”

“I would rather not waste time putting it off, yes,” he agrees in a drawl, looking away again.

“I’ve-” Rilla pauses. “I’ve been meaning to ask. It- I’ve been feeling pretty damn rude, actually, just- what’s your name?”

He blinks, eyes wide with something like panic. “What?”

“Your name. I’m not just going to call you _monster_ if there’s something else I should be calling you. And-”

And this might be the last chance she has, to ask. If things go wrong.

She can see the moment he realizes her thoughts, the morbidity of them, and something like resignation slips into his expression. Not exactly the desired effect. She wishes he didn’t seem so _agreeable_ to the concept of dying, but-

“Fine. Fine, if you care so very much. I am Lord Arum, he who rules the Swamp of Titan’s Blooms. If you must call me anything, you may call me that.”

“Lord, huh?”

“Indeed,” he hisses, narrowing his eyes.

“Seems pretty formal, considering.”

“_Indeed_,” he repeats, more snarl in his tone, and she laughs.

“Okay, okay, _formal_, then. You may call me Amaryllis of Exile, oh Lord of the Swamp. Pleasure to _formally_ meet you.”

His frown deepens. “_Pleasure_,” he hisses under his breath with a scoff. “Now. May we get this _done_? If you are so very _concerned_ with my well-being as you claim, certainly you should not _delay_.”

“Yeah,” she says with a sigh, and then she stands. “Yeah, I know. If you’re ready, I can put you under.”

“As ready as I expect I will be,” he mutters as he watches her cross the room to fetch the sedative.

It’s a little unsettling, actually, how close he watches her as she draws the proper dose into the syringe, as she returns to the side of his cot.

“Okay,” she says, quiet with his eyes on her. “Ready, Arum?”

He scowls at his name in her voice, at the distinct lack of his title, maybe. He still nods, though, after a moment. “Do as you will, human.”

“I’ll do everything I can,” Rilla says, and he closes his eyes even before she injects him with the sedative. “Hang in there for me, okay?”

“As if I have a choice,” Arum says, and he must have already been only hanging on to the waking world with the tips of his claws, because he barely makes it through the sentence before his head slumps to the side, his breaths evening out.

Rilla takes a deep breath, stares down at the monster in her care, and then she turns to prepare what she’ll need to get this job done.

* * *

Rilla is so utterly focused on the monster beneath her hands that she does not register the noise in her front room. She _does_ hear it: the familiar creak of her door, the noises of footsteps approaching- but her eyes are fixed on the injury that is her current dilemma, fixed on the instrument she is using so very, very delicately to try to pull what her revised estimate assumes must be a broken piece of talon from between this monster’s ribs.

She does not register the noise. She doesn’t even register the much closer noises, the familiar voice, until there's a light knocking at the door to her exam room.

Even then she barely understands, through the buzz of her exhausted focus. She’s so close, she can feel the edges of the curved piece of sharpness that’s pierced him, and if she can only get the angle of her tool just right, if she can only get a _little_ bit of grip, she’ll be able to pull it out. This is the source of the infection; Rilla's _sure_ of that. Poisoned talons or envenomed fang, a tip left behind, bleeding more and more tired pain through his body. If she can just get it _out_, her other treatments will finally have the chance to make an impact, will finally be afforded the foothold they need to really _help_ him.

The knock comes again, and Rilla mutters something wordless under her breath and she absolutely _can__’t_ pull her eyes away. She almost has it. _Almost_. The blood is making everything slippery but she can see a darker shade among it too and she _needs_ to get this out of him, she just _needs_ to, and she’s _almost there_-

The door opens. It was not locked.

“Rilla, my heart, you failed to answer and I-”

Rilla feels a very distant twinge of worry, but she’s still so damned _close_ and she can swear she feels her tool catch a grip, just barely. She can’t afford to lose her focus, not _now_-

“A monster.” Damien’s voice is… utterly devoid of inflection. “Rilla- my Amaryllis- remove yourself from that creature and I shall resolve the situation in an instant-”

“’n the middle of something, Damien,” she mutters, and there is sweat on her forehead and she can’t pull her eyes away, not for him and not for anything. “Outta my exam room _now_.”

“That is a _monster_,” Damien repeats, and now there is a tone in his words. Dark, terrified, _furious_. With her? She can’t tell. Doesn’t really care at the moment, if she’s being honest. “Move away from it and I shall slay it for you.”

“Don’t you _dare_,” Rilla growls, and her hair must have come loose from her braid because there are wisps falling in front of her face and she really, _really_ doesn’t have time for this right now. The tool in her hand catches against an edge, pulls, and she feels the curve of the foreign object between Arum's ribs move, just slightly. “Almost- almost got it, c’mon c’mon c’mon-”

“Rilla before it wakes, before it sets upon you-”

“Don’t be _stupid_,” she manages. “Knocked him out for this. _Obviously_. Otherwise the pain’d be- too much. He’s not gonna wake up. Probably not for hours. Shut up and let me focus.”

“Rilla that is a _monster_-”

“_Damien_,” Rilla snaps, sharp and harsh and unquestionable, and when her eyes finally jerk towards Damien his spine stiffens, his eyes going wide. “I heard you the _first_ time. You think I don’t know this is a monster?” She scoffs, and her throat hurts with the effort of not absolutely _screaming_ at him. “What I am doing, Damien, right at this moment, is _incredibly_ delicate. You are going to _leave this room_\- no, don’t you _dare_ interrupt me, I am talking right now. You are going to leave this room and wait outside. When I am done, and not a moment sooner, I am going to come and join you, and then we are going to have a conversation about him. About _this_.”

“Rilla-”

“I said that all as nicely as I am physically able, right now. If you make me repeat myself, Damien, I’m not going to get any nicer. Get out. _Now_.”

He opens his mouth, but she turns away, refocusing back on the task at hand. The task literally, literally in her hands right now. She still has a grip on the talon, somehow, _miraculously_. _Somehow_ it hasn’t slipped away entirely, or slipped _deeper_. She delicately, _delicately_ starts to maneuver the object, and if she angles it just right she should be able to slip it right out without scraping the business end of the thing against anything else inside him- without doing any further damage. Removal of something like this is dangerous and delicate and-

And Rilla barely hears it, when the door clicks shut behind Damien again.

She almost has it. _Almost_.

She twists her wrist. She bites her lip hard enough that it might bleed. She holds her breath and twists and pulls so, so gently-

The small black curve of a broken talon (or, possibly, fang) slips out from between his ribs with not an ounce of fanfare. It barely looks big enough to worry if stuck in the sole of a decent boot. It doesn’t even have the courtesy to dramatically drip black poison. But-

It’s the source of so much of Arum’s pain, and now Rilla has pulled it from him.

Now she can really, really start to help him.

… if she can convince Damien not to kill him, first.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sir Damien and Rilla discuss the issue at hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did u want: canon typical Damien spiraling? <3

Arum is stable, the offending injury cleaned again and sealed and dressed and hopefully, _hopefully_, this time it will actually start to heal. Rilla’s mind buzzes, exhaustion and adrenaline and the satisfaction of a problem _solved_. That little shard of black talon (_definitely_ talon, now that she’s seen it up close; add the satisfaction of a called shot, too) is safely and carefully stashed away in a clean sealed vial for later analysis, where it can’t do any more harm. And Arum-

The sedative probably won’t wear off for hours. Probably for the best, considering how exhausted he was before he went under. It’s probably just her imagination, just wishful thinking, but he looks… calmer. Like he's sleeping more restfully, now, than he had been. Imagination or no, she takes some satisfaction in that, too.

Rilla washes her hands, splashes her face, and when she meets her own eye in the little mirror above her washbasin she sees the bags under her eyes and the hair clouding around her face and the manic tilt to her expression and she- _laughs_.

Damien. Oh, Damien-

What the hell is she going to do about him?

She could be irritated with him just for coming into her exam room, whether or not the door was locked, but- well, it’s not like he wouldn’t have some rule breaking to throw back in _her_ face. She sighs, dragging her palm over her mouth and noting the visible exhaustion that’s making her shoulders sag.

Well. No point putting it off, right?

She checks on Arum one more time, resettling the blankets more securely around his shoulders, ensuring that he’s warm enough, leaving a cup of water beside the bed in case he wakes before she does (whatever happens with Damien, however she gets him out of her hair, she’s going to get some _sleep_ after this, she _needs_ to).

Dead asleep, still, but- he mutters something, some whispery wordlessness as the back of her hand presses to his forehead to make sure his temperature is still consistent, and the breathy murmur and the way his resting expression goes even softer makes Rilla gently smile before she can help herself, and her brain continues to buzz as she thinks, _rest well, you ridiculous monster, __and heal_.

She steps away from the cot, and she sighs, then. This next part is going to be unpleasant.

Damien paces in a straight line as she exits the exam room, turning on his heel to keep going in the same stuck path before he registers that she’s joining him, and then his eyes widen.

“Oh my heart, you are _safe_! Oh, my dearest Rilla, I was terrified that you had been- I felt only moments from bolting in to ensure that you had not been-”

“Damien. I wasn’t in danger,” she says, keeping her voice low and gesturing for Damien to follow her as she steps away from the door to the exam room, away from the possibility of waking Arum accidentally. Her hut isn’t _that_ big, and it’s not like they could have this conversation _outside_, but they can at least stand in the kitchen, a _little_ ways away where they won’t literally be shouting (she assumes they’ll end up shouting) so damn close to Arum.

“I know you are terribly brave, my love,” Damien says as he stumbles behind. “But surely even you must understand- I do not know what sort of- of _experiment_ you are intending to run, but I must advise-”

“He’s not an _experiment_,” Rilla growls, bristling because she already, _already_ regrets the brief window during which she… _did_ kind of think of him that way. He deserves better than that.

“Regardless, regardless of the _why_, it cannot continue, surely you must understand that. The danger- the danger the creature presents, to yourself, to any other patients you may have, to the Citadel itself! Rilla surely you can see that it must be destroyed-”

“You’re not _touching_ him, Damien. He’s my _patient_-”

“It is a _monster_-”

“Yeah, I gathered that Damien, _thanks_, but you still _aren__’t touching him_. He’s my patient, and he’s _one of a kind_, and he’s not gonna hurt me. If he wanted to, he _definitely_ already would have tried something. He’s still weak as hell but he’s stubborn and he would have _tried_, if he really wanted.”

“Of course the monster wants to _hurt_ you, my precious flower. That is simply what monsters _do_.”

Rilla scowls hard, turning away from him to pull the curtains aside, realizing with no small degree of wonder that it’s dark outside again. Already. Already? Before she woke Arum to discuss pulling the talon out, she’s sure it couldn’t have been much past sunrise. Saints she needs to sleep. But before she can-

“Damien, I’m gonna put this as simply as I can. He is my patient. That means that it’s my job to take care of him, and to make sure he’s safe and that his injuries are treated. I’m _finally_ at a point where I’m making progress, and-”

“_Finally_,” Damien echoes, his brow furrowing as his thoughts churn. “Finally? How long have you- how long has this been going on, precisely?”

“Few days,” Rilla says, noncommittal. She- she isn’t quite sure, anymore. She’s been keeping hourly notes, coded longhand, but she’d put it on pause for the surgery, and-

“So,” he says, sounding pained, “when I came to you last, and asked-”

“I lied,” she says flatly. “I lied, because I knew you would respond like _this_.”

“I am attempting to do my _duty_, my love. I must protect you and every citizen of the Citadel, must cleanse the monsters' blight upon this land-”

“Not this monster,” Rilla says. “Not him. He doesn’t _need_ cleansing.” She grins, a little wildly. “I already disinfected him pretty thoroughly.”

“You cannot _jest_ about this, Rilla. Surely, surely you know I cannot allow this, it is-”

“Treason?”

Damien blanches, his face going vaguely ashen, and his voice is near-mournful when he answers. “Rilla, my heart, my forever-flower you _know_ that I would never accuse you of something so _vile_-”

“Even if it’s technically true?”

Damien’s entire expression freezes, as if she has stabbed him. “You can’t mean that. You wouldn’t-”

“He was hurt, Damien,” Rilla says. “And I’m a doctor. I’m just doing my _job_, as far as I’m concerned. But I very much doubt that the Citadel will see it that way.”

“He is a _monster_, my love- he could- he could do _anything_ to you, he could kill you or steal you away or-”

Rilla rolls her eyes. “Or lie in bed complaining about the fact that he’s too weak to even stand. Oh no. Whatever will I do to defend myself against the _constant annoyance_ of monsterkind.”

“Rilla you have seen as well as I have the cruelties done by its kin, the violence and pain! Any benevolence must be a trick, it _must_ be, meant to lull you into a false sense of safety around such a dangerous beast! A devious machination, meant to make you lower your guard for the moment he will _strike_ and _then_ what, my dearest love? What will happen, when you, with your gentle miraculous healing hands, deliver the beast back to strength enough that he may enact his plan? Oh Saint Damien protect us, what will happen when he has been healed enough to _harm_ again? What _then_, my Rilla?”

“He’s not gonna hurt me,” Rilla says, entirely dismissive. “He won’t. He-” she interrupts herself with a deep yawn, jaw going wide as tears pop into her eyes. “Oh, Saints. I thought I could have this argument right now but I absolutely can’t, Damien. Can you _please_ just trust me, at least enough not to do anything tonight? Go back to the Citadel and we can talk about this in the morning. Right now, I’ve barely slept since I found him, and now that I think I’ve finally dealt with the worst of it and got him stable- I could really use a frickin’ _nap_.”

“No,” Damien says, slashing his hand through the air. “_No_, I refuse to leave you helpless and unprotected while that- that _creature_-”

“My patient.”

“Awaits a moment of weakness! Awaits a moment of vulnerability, wherein he may creep close and destroy you, or curse you, or- or any number of terrible intentions that could come to pass the very instant your mind is settled into well-deserved rest, my love. I cannot stand idly by while-”

“Oh for Saints’ sake, Damien, he’s _sedated_. He’s not going to slit my throat in my sleep. I _promise_.”

“It could all be a trick, Rilla. Even with your brilliant mind- the machinations of monsterkind are often more clever than one would expect, and what if this is all some scheme? You are a genius, my Rilla, the greatest doctor in all of the Citadel, and certainly the monsters at large are aware of your prowess, are aware of how many precious lives you have personally gentled back to the realm of the living after countless heinous beasts have expended their most vicious effort to send them to their grave! A doctor of your skill and status- surely monsterkind must be desperate to remove your ferocious protective presence from thwarting their attempts-”

“Damien. First, please try to keep your volume down. I know this is- stressful for you, but the hut is small and the yelling is- not helpful. Second- it’s really flattering that you think they’d pay that much attention to me but I _really_ think you’re overreacting.” She takes a moment to breathe, then sighs quite deeply. “Look, if you’re so worried about it, you can stay here for the night.” She smiles gently, reaching a hand to cup his cheek. “I’m sure you already had a long day before coming over here. Come to bed with me? If it’ll make you feel better, if it’ll make you feel like I’m safer, you know that I love sleeping with your arms around me-”

“I cannot lie idle and sleeping while such a beast rests but one room over, Rilla! I cannot sleep at _all_ while it remains a threat-”

Rilla sighs and drops her hand. “Fine, Damien, _fine_. If you don’t want to rest with me, then you don’t have to, but I am _going to bed_ and you are not _touching_ my patient. Understand me?” She glares, and the force of her ire could knock Damien to the floor. His mouth goes dry, his words freezing. “If you undo any of my hard work I will _not_ forgive you for that. Do you understand me? I will _not_ forgive you,” she says in a low voice, and Damien swallows. “I don’t care if you wanna sit and guard the door, that’s annoying but it won’t hurt anything, but don’t you _dare_ interrupt his rest.” She pauses. “Or _mine_, for that matter. Now if you’ll excuse me, _Sir_ Damien?”

She gives him a tight, angry sort of smile, then excuses herself towards her bedroom, her shoulders already sagging again with the weight of her exhaustion, and Damien’s heart aches for her, _aches_ for her to be safe and rested and in his arms-

But he must do his duty, first. He must protect her.

Damien paces outside the door to the room the monster currently occupies, his mind roiling and racing and terrified, and he whispers low for guidance. Rilla’s hut is not particularly large, and he has learned his lesson many times that if he prays as he naturally wishes to, he will keep his beloved from sleep rather effectively, and he does not wish to anger her any further just now. So: whispers. Saint Damien will hear him just as well, anyway. It is only for the throbbing in his own heart that his volume yearns to rise.

A monster. A _monster_, and his beloved Rilla so determined to see it _healthy_ again. One of a kind- and certainly that is even more of a danger than if this were some ordinary ogre, is it not? What tricks might this beast possess? He could have any magic, and skill, any trick up his sleeve-

“What if it is is not sleeping?” He whispers, eyes sharp on the door as he paces, compulsively drawing his bow, the curve of it feeling like safety in his hand. “What if it is already scheming, already creeping towards my Rilla’s room?” His volume rises, he can barely control it, he tries, but the words are a deluge he is caught in, helpless, _helpless_. “What if it is already crawling close to her bedside while she breathes light and lovely into her pillow and then it smiles a demon’s smile in the dark and it laughs at her precious kindness and then at last it raises a savage claw-”

Damien chokes a breath, pressing a hand hard over his heart and another over his mouth. No. _No_, he is between the beast and his beloved. He would have seen- he would _know_. That- that is merely his fear taking him by the throat. He must stand tranquil against it.

“Saint Damien- oh Saint Damien please,” he murmurs low, wringing his hands and trying, oh trying to slow his breathing. “Please your tranquility my Saint, I must be tranquil if I am to keep her safe, as she deserves to be-”

Rilla forbade him from harming her “patient.” Forbade him from _disturbing its rest_, as absurd as that is (what foul dreams fill a monster’s mind in repose? What passes for peace in such a violent, chaotic creature?). But-

She did not forbid him from entering the room. Did she?

He considers that. He looks to Rilla’s bedroom door, closed tight against him.

No- not closed _tight_. If he abandons his charge to protect her and goes to lay by her side, he is certain that she will gather him up in her arms and her bed and soon he will be blessed to hold her soft and lightly snoring in his arms. She is angry with him, in some misguided way, but she did not lock the door. She would not lock him out.

She did not lock him out of the room where the monster coils, either, though.

He ponders, for a few moments longer, before the thought springs unbidden again- the monster, slipping off of Rilla’s examination cot, slithering across the floor, up the walls, over the ceiling-

What powers it may have, Damien does not know. Camouflage? The ability to creep, silent? He _does_ know of the viciously sharp claws this creature possesses, the jagged teeth that showed in his slackly open mouth-

What if it attempts to _escape_?

Out the window, yes, and then- _anywhere_. It could slither off to find cohorts, other beasts with which to return, to raze Rilla’s cozy, humble home to the ground. It could slink around the side of the hut, could find _another_ window- _Rilla__’s_ window, could insinuate itself back inside and-

Another deep, shaking breath.

No. Even if the creature is silent, Damien will hear the pane of glass shatter, if the creature escapes.

He cannot simply-

Damien cannot-

Every moment it is unoccupied, his mind will spin. It will tumble down into the darkness of catastrophe, will show him newer and darker possibilities, and so long as he does not _know_, not for _certain_, what the monster is _doing_ in there, Damien will be trapped by these feelings, these foul potentialities.

He must enter. He must have his eyes on this beast. It cannot possibly harm Rilla nor anyone else, if he has it safely under his scrutiny.

And Rilla did not forbid him from entering.

He places one hand on the knob of the door, one on his bow, and he creaks the wood open. His entire frame tenses for the strike, whether that strike be his own or the leaping of the monster, but no such strike occurs. It is dim, in the room. Dim, and still, and quiet.

It is mostly quiet, anyway. After a pause, the door ajar but not yet passed through, Damien recognizes the slow, soft noise of breath, coming from inside. He frowns, but he supposes that it is better, is it not, to know that the beast is still where he can keep an eye upon it. If he had opened this door and it was still as death, and there were no noises of life whatsoever- certainly that would have been a more frightening outcome.

Damien takes a step, and then another, and he leaves his hand on the knob as he suspiciously enters this shadowed place.

Still, no attack comes. The light pouring in through the doorframe illuminates enough that Damien can see the shape on the cot, a long figure curled slightly on its side, covers shifting slowly above its chest.

The monster breathes.

It is repellent. This creature, this vile _thing_ soft-sleeping here in a room meant for human healing, for care, for the comfort of his lovely Rilla’s talents and compassion, it is _abhorrent_. And Damien _knows_ that Rilla is compassionate, oh certainly she is, but this- _this_? Certainly, certainly, love, there must be _some_ limits, mustn’t there?

The monster breathes and sleeps and does not move, and Damien is even more nervous, even more furious than he was before.

He paces, but the sound of his shoes clicking on the floor sets his teeth on edge. What- what if his noise wakes the creature? If it attacks him, certainly it would be justifiable, to retaliate. Of course it would. But-

Rilla warned him not to _disturb_ the creature’s _rest_.

So, until she wakes again, at least, he will not.

A stool sits, close beside the bed. When he had entered earlier, Rilla had been perched just in front of it with her hands on the beast, as if she had been seated at some point, and slowly edged forward in tension and focus until she had hovered entirely away.

If Damien wishes to sit, he is going to need to come close enough to the beast to take the seat for himself.

He takes each step across the floor as if it could be rigged with traps, as if _more_ monsters might leap from any given shadow. This… proves unjustified. Yet again Damien is unmolested by monstrous intent, and when he comes close by the bed he stares down at the creature.

Evil. Evil made manifest. Long limbs hidden beneath layers of cloth, sharp claws obscured, the angularity of that body made slack and strange by sleep, that reptilian face-

The monster’s mouth hangs just slightly open, the tips of sharp fangs barely, barely visible behind his thin lips, the ridged line of his brow softened, the low light gleaming on his colorful, mottled scales-

Damien’s jaw tightens. He picks up the stool and moves it away from the bed, moves it to the corner nearest the door, and he perches up upon it facing the bed with a hand on his bow and a scowl set on his face.

The monster does not wake for this, either.

He scowls for quite some time, until his cheeks are a little bit sore. Then he settles into a glare, his determination too strong to be unsettled by boredom. This is only a _trick_, regardless of the way this creature looks- _fragile_, curled there on Rilla’s examination cot. More of his scales are bandaged than not, from what Damien saw earlier, when Rilla was working upon him, and the frill at his neck is nearly in tatters, one of his elegantly curved horns cracked (Damien wonders if that is the sort of thing that heals- not that this creature will have time to find that out, of course), and even despite the undeserved serenity of sleep this monster looks _exhausted_.

A trick. All of it a trick, of course.

… but a very, very convincing one.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sir Damien endures a sleepless night. Sleepless for him, at least.

It has, Damien thinks, been _hours_. The monster has not awakened, has not even shifted or shivered or growled in his sleep, has not given any indication whatsoever that it intends to wake ever _again_, let alone anytime soon.

Damien’s shoulders have been sagging, slowly, as the night slips past him. His bow is settled on his lap with his hand still upon the wood, not in a lack of caution but in the confidence that he can draw as needed if the creature springs suddenly from the sheets.

His vigilance has not waned with the hours; he _will_ destroy this creature. Whether that be at the very moment that it attacks, or when he at last convinces Rilla of her gentle folly, this monster will fall as the rest of his ilk have fallen to Sir Damien’s righteous arrows.

It would certainly be easier if the creature would simply get on with it, though.

Patience has rewards, however. Damien knows this well. Patience, patience, enough time allowed to pass with grace and tranquility and eventually-

Damien tenses as the monster makes a noise, his face contorting in pain as he shifts on the bed, and as he rouses by slow seconds to consciousness properly Damien stills, keeping a hand dutifully, carefully on his bow.

“K-Keep,” the monster groans, one clawed hand flexing and grasping at the sheets, his voice cracked and bitter and very, very weak. “Keep, I…” he drifts off, muttering something incomprehensible, and then his eyes squeeze more tightly shut for a moment. He tenses against the bed, his claws digging further into the fabric of the blankets as he blinks blearily in the dimness of the room. “No,” he hisses, just as weak. “No, no I am… I am not… I am… Amaryllis. Amaryllis, where-”

Those eyes-

Violet eyes settle upon Damien through the low light, and then the monster shrinks back into the bed, wary and betrayed and visibly furious.

“A _knight_,” he mutters, the slurring of sedative still slick on his tongue. “Of _course_. Should have expected- of _course_ she did not mean- of _course_ it was a _lie_-”

“Do not dare imply that Rilla is a _liar_, monster,” Damien says automatically, his eyes narrowing. He- he had not expected the creature to _speak_. Or- Rilla had mentioned complaints, Damien had simply not comprehended that it would mean-

“I will _imply_ only what is _true_,” the monster says, and then he gasps, turning his head away to cringe and freeze against some pain, and he pants out an uncomfortable breath before he continues. “Do not p-pretend as if you are here for any reason but to _kill_ me, knight. And that being the _case_, that would make the word of the doctor _false_. Which is exactly what I expected in the first place. A human- she was _never_ going to prioritize my health, n-never going to protect me against her own ilk. _Never_.” He scoffs, his voice gone ragged and strange and his clawed hands flexing and pushing automatically against the blankets, though he seems too weak to attempt to rise. “I should never have been foolish enough to believe- no. I did _not_ trust her. I was _right_ not to. A lie. Of _course_, a lie, of course I… I knew that she…”

Damien is- torn.

Because he _is_ going to kill this lizard. He _must_\- it is his duty, his holy charge to protect others, his sworn pact to his Citadel, to serve his Queen and to serve the subjects of her land, and that duty means that he must destroy this beast. No matter how distasteful his Rilla finds the work, Damien knows what is expected. He knows what he must do, even if he will honor his forever-flower’s wishes until the dawn, at least.

But this monster is _wrong._ He is deeply wrong about Rilla’s part in this. She has not betrayed- she would _never_. Not even a monster, his brilliant perfect flower would never harm, would never break the bond of her word. This monster is not _owed_ that knowledge of his fiance, but it twists like acid in his stomach, the idea of this monster feeling such unjustified betrayal towards his Amaryllis. It is- unconscionable. He cannot stand for it- can he?

“You are incorrect, demon,” Damien says, eventually, his mouth dry with discomfort. “She has indeed deigned to protect you, unworthy though you are of such mercy. The generosity of her heart is beyond measure, oh precious flower, and it extends far beyond those who are _deserving_ of it. I have not slain you where you lay _merely_ out of respect for her desires.” He pauses, his thumb caressing the polished wood of his bow. “But do not misunderstand. The very instant that your intentions are revealed, I fully intend to pierce you through the heart. I _know_, foul beast, that you cannot be trusted, and in the exact same breath during which you break the faith of my beloved you _shall_ fall, and it shall be by my arrows. You will not get away with whatever scheme you intend to enact. Mark me, villain, I will not sit idly- I will not- I- foul creature, are you even _listening_ to me?”

He is not.

The monster has fallen back to unconsciousness somewhere among Damien’s threats, his expression soft and exhausted and slack, one of his clawed hands caught in the blankets above him, in the middle of the act of pushing them away. Damien can see more of the beast’s upper body, now- or he would be able to, were it not nearly entirely covered in bandages, at least one of which Damien can see is speckling red from beneath. The monster trembles lightly in his sleep, perhaps shivering, or responding to further pain.

Damien fidgets where he sits.

A convincing display, certainly.

… but the _blood_, he is not faking _that._ He couldn’t be. Rilla would never be fooled by a false injury, _never_, no matter how clever the foe. Her skill is unsurpassed, and she would _know_ whether or not a wound were true, and her hands had been upon the beast when Damien first arrived, performing some mysterious and delicate _surgery_, it had appeared- perhaps the monsters would be cruel enough to harm one of their own in a bid to insinuate themselves into the home of the Citadel’s finest physician? Perhaps-

Damien has fought countless monsters, in his time. He has killed _many_, his record matched only by that of his rival. He does not believe he has ever seen one sleep, before. He has seen them unconscious, he has seen them _dead_. He has never seen one simply… _sleep_. Gentle, restful.

The monster is still trembling. Damien is more confident, now, that he must be cold. There is something about the way that he is laying that suggests that he would rather be curled up were so much of his body not damaged and wrapped- or perhaps that is merely an assumption of Damien’s mind, considering the beast’s obviously reptilian bent. His breathing seems shallow- but of course, Damien does not know the pace at which this monster typically breathes. Compared to the helpless fury in his eyes in the brief moments of his awakening, his entire expression seems- soft, now. He looks vulnerable- he _is_ vulnerable. Damien could destroy him in an instant, a single arrow would do the deed with barely a breath of effort, but-

Damien will not act as a monster would. No- of course not. Killing an innoc- no. Killing a helpless creature in his sleep; he will not be so cruel as that. He will not take that particular page of strategy from the book of his enemies.

And of course, he is simply giving his Rilla time to reconcile with what must be done. Of course. It is only… a _delay_. A stay of execution.

That thought makes Damien wince. He is unsure why, precisely.

Damien flinches for a more ordinary reason as a noise from the bed summons his attention. The monster exhales unevenly, some small whispering noises slipping from him as his brow furrows in unconscious distress, and his shaking, his trembling, it is growing more pronounced.

Damien stands, uncertainly, and shoots a look towards the door, towards where Rilla is currently sleeping. Is this- should he? Should he summon her from sleep to settle whatever new distress this is? Or- or would it be better if Damien simply… waited?

If the monster simply fails to survive the night… well, Damien’s conflict might very well solve itself.

The monster-

_Whimpers_. There is no other word for it. An utterly pathetic noise, and the creature’s claw twitches against the blankets, another shiver buzzing through him, and Damien-

Damien takes a hesitant step forward. His bow is still tightly gripped in one hand, of course, and Damien can draw in the space of half a heartbeat. If this be some trick, he will not hesitate to do his duty. The monster still appears unaware, though. He does not respond to Damien’s movement at all, though he continues breathing sharply, shaking lightly, giving small hissing gasps between his jagged teeth.

Damien steps closer. The monster fails to attack. Another step, and another, and Damien’s grip on his bow does not loosen, but still the monster merely sleeps and trembles, merely sleeps and whines.

Damien is beside the cot, and the monster is asleep. Unhappily so, but very clearly asleep. And Damien is sure, now, that at least part of the distress is from cold- the monster had pushed his layers of blankets away during his moment of wakefulness, and now he is shivering, uncomfortable enough to disturb his rest but not enough to break the heavy bonds of slumber quite yet.

Damien lifts the a hand (the one not clutched around his bow, of course), and-

He does nothing, for a long moment. He stands like a fool with his hand hovering in the air between them, and the monster does not do _anything_, because the monster is asleep. Or- the monster does not do anything besides shiver, at the very least.

He lowers his hand, just until it touches the edge of the covers. Still there is no movement, though now Damien can feel the vague gentle heat of his scales, close by the tips of his fingers. Not touching, not quite touching skin to scale.

Damien frowns at himself, grips the corner of the fabric, and lifts, tugging the blankets up to rest more effectively around the monster’s shoulders.

The beast settles, after a moment. The shivering subsides, the unhappy lines furrowing his brow easing, and the monster slips deeper into sleep.

Damien finds that his heart is racing. Foolishness. He- it was merely a test. A simple little attempt to draw out the violence that surely waits in this creature. Just because the monster failed to leap upon him _now_ does not mean that he will not when he is given another chance.

Damien stumbles backward, keeping his eyes on the monster’s sleeping form until he finds the stool by the door again, and then he resumes his perch.

If this monster intends to be patient with whatever his scheme is, Damien can certainly be patient as well.

  
  


The monster wakes again, perhaps an hour later. It glares at him with violet eyes, huddling closer among the blankets, but when Damien has barely opened his mouth again to inform him of his precarious position, of his fast-encroaching _end_, the monster… falls immediately back into slumber.

Infuriating. _Infuriating_ creature.

  
  


When the light around the curtains grows grey and gentle with approaching dawn, the creature wakes a third time.

“Still here, are you?” he mutters, eyes barely open, tone lazy and light. “Hours, it must have been. Are you… enjoying your little perch, knight?”

“I can hardly leave you to your own _devices_, beast. You cannot be _trusted_, not here where you may perform any cruelty upon my- Saints _damn_ you,” Damien barks as the creature closes his eyes again. “I am _speaking_ to you, creature!”

“Hm?” The monster blinks, refocusing on Damien after a confused moment. “Ah.. what- what?”

“I am _speaking_ to you, you _cur_. Do not _ignore_ me. Do not- do not drift off into the undeserved peace of slumber!”

The monster narrows his eyes, lip curling uncomfortably as he stares Damien down with those vicious and vivid eyes. "Perhaps I would not be so lulled if your threats were not so _tiresome_, little human." His eyes slip back closed, and Damien finds that he is both relieved and disappointed, for that violet glare to be pulled from him. "You sound always as if you intend to burst into song; I do not know why you are _surprised_ that I feel lullabied. Are you certain that you are a knight?" He is sneering, though his voice is sleepy-soft, and his eyes are still closed. "I would sooner suppose you a songbird."

"I would _shudder_ to hear the sorts of lullabies a monster would sing," Damien breathes, uncomfortable, and the monster's lip pulls tight for a moment, some strange new pain crossing his face. "They must comprise of some truly horrific melodies, to be certain."

"Mmm," the monster grumbles, pressing his face into the pillow and sighing. "Go on. Keep lilting, little songbird, and I shall slip away again in just a moment."

Damien freezes, and then he flushes dark and scowls. "_Nothing_ I say is for your benefit, you foul _thing_," he snaps. "How dare you- how dare you insinuate-"

The monster slits one violet eye back open, something like a smirk curling his inhuman mouth. "Precisely like that, little songbird. Trill, trill away, with all your feathers ruffled. Quite an amusing picture you paint, driven to distress like this-"

"I am no _songbird_," Damien half-shouts, and then he shoots a worried glance toward the door and repeats himself more quietly. "I am _not_. I may sing, monster, but I will certainly not perform so for _you_. And my songs are not the formless meaningless cries of chaotic nature, either, beast. I weave words, not notes. I am a _poet_. Were I to sing, you would certainly know it."

The monster’s eyes have slipped entirely closed again, and Damien can _see_ that his breathing is evening out, though his smirk stays in place as he murmurs, “_Poet_… little poet-knight… delicate as… honeysuckle, I think…”

“Stop that. I will not entertain such casual address by a villain such as _you_. Cease your- your _false flattery_, you- you-” Damien cuts off again, staring at the creature. “You’ve… you’ve fallen asleep again, haven’t you?”

The monster does not answer.

“These tricks will not serve you in the end, of that I assure you. By Saint Damien above I say that I will not soften. I will not yield. I will _not_.”

The monster does not answer.

Damien glares, fidgeting in place for a long moment, frustration bubbling over. “_Songbird_,” he scoffs. “Pfft. Nonsense, such utter…”

The monster breathes slow and even, his strange expression softened yet again in sleep, and Damien does not like what it implies, that he is already becoming so familiar with the curves and edges of this scaled face.

  
  


Damien hears Rilla wake. The hut is quite small, and he has been sitting in silent stillness for long enough that the light creaking of her floorboards and the rustle and mumblings from her room rouse his attention rather quickly. He hears her move, hears the bedroom door open and her light footsteps pad into the front room.

He hears her go still.

She curses, sharp and panicked and then her footsteps come again, much faster, and the door to the exam room flies open to show his fiance with her hair mussed from sleep and her expression utterly terrified as her eyes sweep the room, her mouth already open.

“Damien- Damien you _didn__’t_-”

She pauses as she sees the monster, still sleeping, and then when her eyes fall on Damien himself, perched upon his stool.

“I didn’t,” Damien agrees, perhaps a little bitterly.

She stares at him, her hand at her throat, her breaths slowing as her alarm subsides, and then the corner of her mouth tilts up into a hesitant sort of smile.

“Th… thank you, Damien,” she says, quietly. “I know this is… I _know_. Would you- wait in the kitchen, while I look him over?” She pauses, and Damien stands, his eyes sharp on the monster’s slow-breathing form, his hand still curved around the grip of his bow. “Please?”

Damien knows, still, what must happen. Damien knows that his arrow is destined for this creature’s heart. He knows, with a certainty so sharp it could cut him, that there is only one way this endeavor can end.

Rilla looks at him with such terrible softness, and the monster breathes slow and even nearby, and Damien nods, and exhales, and walks stiffly from the room.

There is only one way this can end. So it is only a small matter, if that end is put off for just a little while longer.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's going to be a tense few days, in Rilla's hut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some mild chapter specific warnings for people not taking very good care of themselves, like not eating for most of the day and depriving themselves of sleep out of stress. Take care of yourselves!

Arum wakes when she’s just about to change his bandages again. Less than ideal, but when he hisses low and squeezes his eyes more tightly closed she decides to check in verbally first, and she pulls the covers back over him. He wrinkles his snout, wincing up at her through a squint as she leans against the table at his bedside, and then he raises an eyebrow at her.

"I must assume your little operation was at least a reasonable success,” he mutters, not sounding particularly pleased about it. "Considering that I woke again at _all_."

"Yeah," Rilla says, crossing her arms over her chest. "I was right, and I got it out. You wanna tell me what kind of monster it was that ambushed you, now? Because I’m pretty sure I’m gonna figure it out when I analyze that thing anyway and it’d save me at least a little bit of time, Arum."

"_Ambushed_, they did not _ambush_ me, I would not be so easily-"

"Back-stabbed, then?"

Arum goes silent, jaw snapping shut. He narrows his eyes. "Why, precisely, does it _ matter _ to you, little human? Do you intend to feed the information to your little … _ friend_? Your little _ knight_?"

It is Rilla’s turn to go silent for a moment, and then she scowls. “Did he wake you? I _ told _ him not to disturb-”

“Woke perfectly well on my own. Could not _stay_ awake, with your persistent little injection still coursing through me, but- I would have thought it a dream, if he did not move the stool to be as far from me as he could be, if it were not still there now.” He pauses. “No, that is not quite true, I don’t think my own mind could have conjured such a distinct annoyance. I would have known he were real regardless.”

“He’s got his charms,” Rilla drawls. “Now, do you feel any different? It’s only been a few hours, but hopefully-”

“I do.” Arum sighs, settling more deeply in the blankets. “There is less… now that the sedative seems to be less present, I feel…”

“Better, hopefully?”

“A layer has been removed. Of the exhaustion, the- pain. It is lessened.”

Rilla smiles, the satisfaction curling through her again, and Arum watches her with puzzled eyes. “_Good_.”

He allows her to lift the cup of water by the bedside to his mouth again, allows her to check his eyes, his range of movement, the edges of his frill that cannot be bandaged, and then he winces throughout as she changes his bandages out and checks the offending injury on his midsection, and when she finally resettles the blankets over him he is half-drifting again.

“Don’t go anywhere,” she says, gently teasing, and he frowns, flicks his tail, and sighs, but does not respond. “I’ll be just outside if you need anything.”

She exits, and closes the door behind her.

The hut is small enough that she knows she’ll be able to hear if he calls, and- well. If he’s still even partly awake, she’s not sure she wants him to hear whatever it is that she and Damien might say. She doesn’t expect this conversation to be any more pleasant than the one last night.

Damien sits by her table, tense and prim with his knees tucked beneath him on one of the cushions, and he glances up warily when she comes over to join him, dropping to settle on a cushion by his side.

“I take it you didn’t sleep at all,” she says mildly, lip curling into a wry sort of smile.

“Of course not.” He frowns, and the distinct pain in his eyes makes Rilla want very badly to reach out and cup his cheek, but she quells the urge. She’s not sure what angle he’s going to take yet, with his protests, and she doesn’t think he’ll welcome the contact, just now.

“He woke up at some point?” she prompts, and his lips press tight together.

“Intermittently,” he mutters, and he looks away again. “He- it did not stay conscious for any excessive length of time.”

“Why were you in there?”

“I couldn’t-” Damien cuts himself off, grimacing, one hand squeezing the table in front of him, and Rilla knows exactly what the answer will be before he opens his mouth to continue. “I could not stop thinking- every terrible thing it could have been doing in there, if I could not see- I could not keep my mind from racing with every catastrophe, every possible evil- I needed to have my eyes upon the beast.”

Rilla inhales, exhales. The idea of Damien glaring hatefully at Arum the whole night through is- _ unsettling_, to say the least, but-

“Did that help, then?”

“_Help_,” he repeats in a mutter. “I did not lose myself to hysterics in fear of potential disaster, if that is what you mean.”

“Damien,” she says, her stomach doing an uncomfortable little turn at his tone. His frown deepens, just slightly, and he turns his face away. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“It _seems_ to be as weak as you believe it to be,” he says, and he does not sound happy about it.

“He can barely lift his arms, Damien.”

“I _said_ he seemed-” Damien cuts himself off again, and then he exhales a sigh. “Yes. At the moment it does not appear that he could attack you. At the _moment_.”

It’s not much of a concession, but it’s _ something_. Rilla gives a very slight smile, just in time for Damien to glance her way again. His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes are a little softer, she thinks.

“You… you look tired, Damien. You should lay down, just for a little bit-”

He shakes his head, sighing again. “I cannot.”

“Damien, he’s not going to-”

“I must return to the Citadel,” he interrupts, and her heart sinks as he rises to stand. “I am expected, today.”

“Oh,” she says, and she very much does not want to ask the question that hangs in the air between them. She doesn’t want to, but Rilla knows that leaving it hanging won’t _help_, so. She stands as well, biting her lip for a moment before she asks, “Are you- do you plan on-”

His jaw tightens. “I have yet to kill the creature,” he mutters, looking away. “I cannot say a word about it unless I wish to reveal my own failure and cowardice.”

“Oh, come on, Damien, it’s not-”

He turns towards her, his frown deepening further. “My love, I know my duty, and you know it just as well. This- this arrangement cannot stand. Surely you must understand that I cannot allow this. I will- I will concede some time, for you to reconcile that knowledge. I do not know why or how you have grown… _attached_ to this thing, but I admire the compassion of your heart, even as I know I must act against it.”

“Damien,” Rilla tries again. “The only reason he’s hurt in the first place is because _other monsters_ attacked him. You aren’t even a _little_ curious why that would be true? And I’m not just going to- to let you _hurt_ him after all this- after I’ve done so much to- Damien, he’s my _patient_-”

“I said I would give you time, my dearest love, and I shall. But you must come to terms with the reality of the situation. You must come to terms with the fact that he is a _monster_, and I am a knight. There is only one way this can possibly end, Rilla.”

He lifts his hand, reaching to cup her cheek, and Rilla scowls, smacking his palm away. “Don’t- I don’t need your _concession_, Damien. Don’t patronize me.”

“I-” he pauses, his expression somewhere between injured and mournful, and then he sighs. “I have duties that will keep me away tonight, but- but I will be back tomorrow, in the evening. When I can be.”

“Oh, thank the Saints,” she mutters, making no effort to disguise her irritation. “I’ll just muddle along and try not to get _murdered_ until then.”

Damien presses his lips together, tight, but he manages not to respond to that. He takes another deep breath, instead, and then he fixes his eyes more deliberately on his fiance. “I love you, Rilla. I… you know that I worry as I do merely because of how deeply I care for you.”

Rilla sighs, some of the anger leaking away, and she steps close enough to the knight to touch his shoulder, her brow furrowed. “You know I love you too. Try- try not to overexert yourself today, Damien. It’s not healthy to push yourself on zero sleep.”

Damien purses his lips, but he doesn’t point out her hypocrisy. Instead, he gives his own weak smile and says, “Doctor’s orders?”

“Unless fiancée’s orders work better,” she says with a shrug, and she only hesitates for a heartbeat when she leans down to press a light kiss to his cheek. “I’ll- I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow,” Damien agrees, and Rilla can’t help but notice the way his eyes flick towards Arum’s door.

Arum slips in and out of consciousness most of the rest of the day. Rilla has enough time in his frequent catnaps (lizardnaps?) to manage her experiments, finally. A lot of them went unruly while she was so distracted managing _him_, and she has to toss out the entirety of her new bandage adhesive experiment- it worked a little _too_ well, actually, and she feels like that particular mixture wouldn’t be good to apply to actual human skin. Or scales, for that matter. She puts the ones she can on hold, and the others she scraps. She can’t be sure how much of her time is going to be co-opted by monster babysitting, right now, and she knows how easily she gets distracted by her work. This patient is worth better than half her attention.

She switches to research, instead, pulling out bestiaries and pulling up the floorboard at the foot of her bed so she can cross reference with some of her fathers’ old books as well.

She notes a few possibilities for the creature that left the talon behind, though she doesn’t have much luck, finding anything like Arum in those books, either.

She _does_ find him on the floor of the exam room in the mid-afternoon, though. She hears the thump when he falls, and when she comes to check on _that_ she finds him halfway off the cot and halfway on the floor. His tail and one foot are still on the bed, mostly, tangled in the blankets, and she sighs deeply as he growls up at her with his snout against the wood of her floor.

“In what way would leaving right now be useful to you, Arum?” she asks dryly. “You planning on _crawling_ your way back to your swamp from here? I’m pretty sure the knights will notice you even if you _are_ on ground level the whole time.”

His growl deepens as he glares up at her, and he makes a somewhat sad and not very fruitful effort to pull himself back up. His leg is still tangled, and Rilla needs to pull the cloth away so he can slump all the way to the floor before she can actually start to help get him back up.

He takes the help with bad grace, of course. He refuses to look at her as she slips an arm around his back, careful to avoid the one large stab wound on his lower back as she helps to lift him back to sit on the edge of the bed, and he growls continuously throughout, though he doesn’t try to push her away.

“I was gonna wait a while for this to let you rest a bit longer, but _now_ I’m gonna have to check you over again to make sure you didn’t just pull something _open_, Arum.”

“I could tear your throat out, you know,” he snarls, and he’s close enough that she can see the flecks of darker purple in his eyes as he glares at her. “Effortlessly. Each time you _patronize_ me I grow closer to succumbing to that temptation.”

“I feel like I don’t actually have to tell you how much of an idiot move that would be,” Rilla says wryly, making no effort to pull back away from him. Instead, she starts to unwind his bandages to check on his injuries, her fingers moving with the automatic ease of practice, and Arum winces, hissing lightly. “You _could_,” she says. “Obviously you _could_. But we both know that you _shouldn’t_. Especially not now that we’ve dealt with the biggest issue in the way of your recovery.”

He huffs, turning his face away, and she can’t help the way the laugh bubbles out of her at the pout on his face.

“Don’t- don’t you _dare_ mock me, human-”

“I’m not. Arum-”

He’s actively trying to pull away from her hands, now, and she lets him, lifting her palms in a placating gesture. Last thing she wants to do is accidentally hurt him worse because he’s struggling against her.

“Arum. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh at you.” She shakes her head, smiling wryly. “The situation is more ridiculous than anything, honestly, but you just- you looked so _irritated_ that you might survive and it just- hit me. Sorry.”

He makes a strange rattling noise and eyes her warily for a moment before he looks away with a huff. “Well. You are… you are correct that this entire debacle is ridiculous. I suppose you cannot be blamed,” he mutters. His frame relaxes, and he drops his hands. “Go on, then. If you _must_.”

It _is_ a little strange, checking him so thoroughly like this while he’s actually conscious enough to scrutinize her in return. Usually he’s at least half-asleep when she does this, or at least too tired to pay much attention. With him frowning at her the whole time-

She starts talking her way through it after a few moments, explaining each step and describing his progress to him, and though he frowns at first, she can tell that he’s listening, and he almost seems to relax a bit. Not counting the moments he flinches when she needs to clean some of the more heinous injuries before rewrapping, at least.

“I… I do not understand you,” he mutters when she’s finished again, narrowing his eyes up at her as she checks his temperature with the back of a hand. “I don’t understand _any_ of it. You, your little pet _knight_, none of it. It’s _ridiculous_.”

“That’s fair,” Rilla says with a shrug and a sigh. “Look, it doesn’t make a lot of sense from my perspective either, Arum. It’s not like I went for a walk the other day _expecting_ to have a monster fall into my lap, you know? Sometimes- sometimes things just happen, and you react. I’m reacting.”

Arum ducks his head, glaring up at her as she puts the bandages away again, neatly arranging her materials back into their respective cabinets. “This is not the _ reaction_ that humans typically have to _monsters_, Amaryllis. Injured or _no_.”

Rilla tries not to let it show on her face, the little flash of delight she feels that he’s deigned to actually use her name. “Yeah, well. I tend to do things my own way.”

* * *

He doesn’t give her much trouble for the rest of the day. He must be exhausted by the whole collapsing-to-the-floor thing combined with just, like, the _ rest _ of it, because he’s right back to napping on and off until dark. She eats dinner early, since she was a bit too distracted for breakfast and she was busy with her experiment management around lunchtime, and the next time she hears Arum shifting around she brings something in for him, too.

Vegetable stew is a good sort of meal for where he’s at currently. He begrudgingly explained his dietary needs over the last day or so, mostly as she’s tried offering him various things and either had him turn his nose up in haughty disgust or snatch it impatiently out of her hands, by turns. His dental structure is odd enough that she had a difficult time hypothesizing what he would eat in the first place, but it turns out he’s an omnivore, with a preference for insects, fruits, and leafy greens. She _ could _ fry up some crickets, make a salad, that sort of thing, but his throat is still a little raw from the near-drowning, so she figures something more broth-based is probably better to stick to for the moment. He’s less grumpy when he’s full, too, which is a pleasant side effect.

(She’s amused as hell when she teases out of him that he doesn’t actually eat red meat- _doesn’t_, he says specifically, not _can’t_, which is interesting, but it’s interesting less for the sake of her knowledge of his eating habits and _more_ because it puts the lie to all his early grumbled _I’ll bite your throat out_, _you’ll be delicious you foolish little creature_ sorts of threats from when he was barely awake.)

She goes to bed early, checks on her patient again in the middle of the night (he’s deep asleep at that point, thankfully), and when she wakes the next day it’s kind of a repeat. Arum’s making progress, now, sure, but it’s still slow. She thinks that he might heal more slowly than a human, but she can’t be sure if that’s inherent or just a consequence of him recovering from whatever toxin had been in his system. That’s first on the list for that day, anyway. Identifying that talon so she can figure out that much, at least.

The day runs sort of like clockwork, in that she spends any point during which she’s not busy thinking of the clock. Thinking of when Damien is coming back, of what he’s doing out there, how worried he must be (unnecessarily, but _still_), what kind of state he’s going to return in-

Even _Arum_ notices that she’s distracted, which is annoying. He doesn’t say much besides a grumble that goes with an eye-roll, but still, she should be better than that.

Damien doesn’t come back until late, when she’s washing up the dishes after dinner. He knocks, which isn’t that unusual when she has the little plaque on her door turned to _closed_, and that’s been continual since she dragged Arum back here. She calls for him to come in, since she’s got her wrists in dishwater anyway, and there’s just enough of the meal left for him to have a bowl too, and she opens her mouth to offer as she glances over her shoulder, but-

“Saints, Damien, you look _exhausted_-”

He frowns, but he doesn’t answer. He crosses the room rather quickly, actually, and Rilla realizes after a half second that he’s marching straight for Arum’s door.

“Damien? Damien-”

He pulls the door open, stares inside, and then before Rilla can really start to panic he sighs and closes the door again.

“Still here,” he breathes. “It’s still here.”

“I…” Rilla shakes the water off her hands, eying Damien warily from across almost the entire space of her hut. “What did you think I was gonna do with him, exactly?”

“I had half-convinced myself I had dreamed the whole thing,” he mutters, and then he looks to her, and the shadows beneath his eyes are nearly purple. “Or- or perhaps I was _hoping_ that was true.”

Rilla furrows her brow. “Well… sorry to disappoint, I guess. I saved you some food, if…”

He stares at the exam room door again, just for a moment, and then he comes over and sits by the table to eat.

It’s awkward, to say the least. Damien is never this quiet, and he keeps staring at Arum’s door as if he expects it to burst open or something _ worse _, and Rilla can’t seem to draw him into conversation even a little. When he’s done eating he stands and washes the bowl without a word, and then he- hovers there, near the table, and just stares at the door for a while longer.

Rilla stands as well, after a moment, and she reaches gently to touch his shoulder.

“Damien… I think- I think you need to rest, okay?”

“I am perfectly-”

“You haven’t slept at all, have you?” she asks, and his eyes flick to the door again. She reaches her other hand out to cup his cheek, to make him meet her eyes. “Damien. Look, I’m- I’m tired too, okay? Just- come to bed with me. Lay down for- for just a couple hours. We can lock the bedroom door if that will make you feel better, but- you _can’t_ keep pushing yourself like this. It’s not healthy, and it’s not going to help anyone. Please.”

_You’re really worrying me_, she doesn’t say, but she can tell he hears her anyway. He sags after a pause, then leans into her arms and nods. He lets her lead him to the bedroom. He lets her carefully undo his armor, lets her pull him into the bed and wrap her arms around him, lets her draw hands through his hair and hum some soft song until she drowses, until she falls entirely to sleep.

And then when Rilla is safe in slumber, when her worries have been appeased, Damien extricates himself from her embrace, retrieves his bow, and goes to resume his watch.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter specific warnings for aggressively threatening language, people not taking care of themselves, and some... increasingly overt suicidal ideation. Whoops. Take care of yourselves, please! I love you!

The door of the exam room clicks quietly shut behind Damien, and he breathes slow and deep for a long moment, not yet looking into the dimness, not yet turning his gaze upon the creature he has so far failed to slay.

“Ah,” the monster says behind him, and Damien jolts against the wood, then spins and compulsively lifts his bow into a more dangerous stance. “Back again, are you? I was beginning to wonder where you had run off to.”

“B-beast,” Damien growls, and the monster eyes his bow with a flatly unimpressed look for a moment before he sighs and looks aside. “You are _lucky_ that you did not cause my Rilla any harm in my absence. You would not have _woken_ again had that been the case.”

“If I damaged the doctor, you certainly would not have found me _here_ still,” he grumbles, and Damien scowls hard. “I would not be so foolish as to _stay_ in this little human _hovel_ if she were not keeping me.”

Damien can’t decide which part of the monster’s words is the _ most _ infuriating, so he simply fumes for a long moment before he takes a deep, steadying sort of breath. He leans back against the door, then, crosses his arms, and glares.

“Hm,” the creature says, raising a ridged eyebrow and watching Damien watch him. “Have you nothing better to do than waste your nights staring at injured enemies?”

“Until you no longer threaten my R- until you no longer threaten Rilla, _you_ are my only priority.”

“You have already called her _your Rilla_ once this evening, honeysuckle, acting unfamiliar at this juncture is absurd. I’m _injured_, not _stupid_.” The monster exhales a strange sort of laugh when Damien winces, then he jerks his head towards the stool Rilla moved to the foot of the bed earlier in the evening. “Sit, little knight. You look foolish, shifting from paw to paw over there.”

“Do not presume to tell me-”

“Stand if you like,” he says with a shrug. “It hardly matters to _me_. I am as comfortable as my injuries will allow, buried in blankets while you knock your elbows on the doorframe over there.”

“Utterly undeserving,” Damien grits out between his teeth, his nose wrinkling in disgust. He frowns hard for a moment, then relents with a sigh, still glaring as he comes close enough to grab the stool and move it to a safe distance from the cot again. “You seem quite a bit more talkative, more _alert_ than you did the other night, don’t you?”

The monster laughs lightly, then tenses as the motion apparently pulls on something unpleasant. “Yes, well, I am no longer _ sedated_, so that certainly stands to reason. I still will not make any claims on whether or not you will manage to keep me awake, however.” He sneers, eyes flashing. “I find knights quite tiring, and songbirds quite soothing, so whichever you choose to be tonight I shall be hard pressed to keep my eyes open.”

“I am only ever a knight, _monster_.”

“If you say so,” he mumbles, turning his face away again.

There is an extended pause, an awkwardly lingering silence as the monster blinks slowly in the vague direction of the window and Damien stares hard at the monster from his perch, neither speaking, neither making any noticeable attempt at attack. Eventually the monster sighs again, letting his eyes drift back towards Damien, his lip curling wryly as he observes the knight in return.

“Is this really how you intend to waste your evening, honeysuckle?”

“You cannot be left to your own devices,” Damien growls. “A monster such as yourself cannot be trusted.”

“Hm. So you intend to… _stare_ at me. The entire night. In suspicion that I may drag myself from this cot and… escape?”

“Escape would be unfortunate,” Damien sneers, “but it is the least of my worries where _you_ are concerned. I cannot abide leaving you unsupervised so close to Rilla as she sleeps.”

The monster raises an eyebrow, visibly amused. “I understand that I have been here for some time, now, little songbird. She must have slept many nights while I have been under the same roof. _ You _ have only been here to stand between us _ once _ before, to my memory. Do you believe that she has simply been _ lucky _ in slumber, so far? Do you think I have been amusing myself _ not _ destroying her? How do you believe this little arrangement has worked?”

“I do not _know_ why you have not attacked Rilla yet, but I do not trust that such a precarious situation will endure. I do not trust _you_.”

“Obviously.”

“I do not trust you, and I will kill you the _moment_ you threaten her.”

“Of course.”

“Whatever you intend to do to her, I _will_ stop you.”

“Oh, _certainly_.”

Damien opens his mouth again, but the indulgent smirk on the monster’s face sets his teeth on edge- he _ knows _ this creature is going to continue to patiently _ agree _ with whatever he says, and- and that should not be infuriating, it is simply _ agreement_, but it _ is _ infuriating, in a way Damien does not think he would be able to articulate. He closes his mouth again, and the monster’s smile widens slightly as Damien glares, as another strange pause stretches between them. Eventually the monster’s amusement fades, and his eyes narrow slightly, his head tilting as he looks Damien over.

“Have you-”

The monster pauses, a frown curling his thin lips as his eyes flick across Damien’s face.

“What?” Damien asks warily. “What is it?”

“You look as if- as if you have not slept. Obviously you are not resting while you keep your nonsense vigil over me-”

“It is a necessary _guard_ duty,” Damien mutters.

“But _certainly_ you must rest when you leave.”

“My sleeping habits are none of your concern, _beast_,” Damien says with a scowl, looking aside.

“I am beginning to suspect that you do not _have_ sleeping habits,” the monster says, still frowning, and then he shakes his head. “That seems _irresponsible_, don’t you think? If you are so terribly worn down, however will you protect your beloved from all of my dark and devious plots and plans?”

Damien freezes, all his muscles tensing, but when he turns to fix the monster with a look of fury and vindication he sees-

The sly sharpness of those violet eyes, the subtle curve of that smirk.

“You- you are _deliberately_ taunting me,” Damien says, more factual than furious.

“Obviously.”

Damien chokes a laugh. “Just- I- simply _ saying _ that your horrible intentions are facetious will not fool me, demon. I will discover your intent and I will- stop that!”

The monster has closed his eyes, settling deeper into his excessive nest of blankets. At Damien’s indignant yelping, he slits them back open, his mouth curling in an even more satisfied smirk. “Why, little songbird? I thought you were serenading me again. I am _ certain _ that I have heard this melody before, after all…”

“You… you are _intolerable_,” Damien grates out between his teeth.

“I know,” the monster drawls, shifting on the cot, apparently arranging himself more comfortably. “I have been told so at length. I am _brilliant_, of course, but I am not meant to be understood by _humans_. I am still unsure why, precisely, _you_ tolerate me,” he says through a sigh, eyes closing again. “Respect for Amaryllis or no. Every moment during which you do not slay me you are more and more a traitor.”

Damien’s mouth opens, and then a half second later he actually processes the rest of what this monster just said.

“You-” he cuts off, brow furrowing, lips sinking into a frown. “Oh. Oh Saint Damien… creature, _beast_, you-”

“Me, _what_, little honeysuckle? If we are discussing intolerable things, I would like to suggest your incessant mutterings.”

“Are you attempting to provoke me to kill you?” Damien says weakly. “All of this- the taunting, the- the _pet_ names, the irritation, are you- have you been intentionally pressing me closer to your execution?”

The monster’s eyes open again, and then he turns his face decidedly away, the thin webbing of his battered frill half-rising around his face. “I certainly would not have to endure your annoyance anymore, if I were dead. Nor would I be pressed into a position of such utter _ shame_. Coddled and cared for by a _ human_, feh.”

“And pushing for your own _death_ seems an appropriate response to _annoyance_, beast?”

“It doesn’t matter,” the monster mutters. “I was close enough to death already that it hardly seems a bother.”

“That is- _absurd_,” Damien says before he can stop himself. “Rilla would be furious with you if she heard you speak so.”

“I am well aware.” His mouth curls even further down, his frown deepening and his head ducking until he tucks his chin to his chest. “It is not as if I voiced such thoughts of my own volition, _knight_. And it is not as if I believe you are going to snap in an instant and _slay_ me, not if the result would be to so thoroughly antagonize such a fierce creature as my doctor.”

“_Your_ doctor,” Damien mutters automatically, scathingly, and the monster breathes a laugh.

“_Our_ doctor, then?” he tries instead, with a sharp sort of grin.

Damien’s scowl darkens, but then he blinks. “You- you’re doing it again, aren’t you?”

“Ah,” he wrinkles his snout. “Now you’ll allow me no amusement whatsoever, little songbird. If you are going to _analyze_ every time I poke you, this will be no fun at all. I have so little to do here, you know. If you are not going to kill me, you could at least grant me a little taunting, now and again.”

Damien chokes, only _ almost _ a laugh. “Are you _ bored_, beast? Bored and taking comfort in prodding towards your own doom?”

“Simply prodding, honeysuckle,” the monster mumbles, eyes closing again. “Of course I am _bored_. It is… it is far too quiet, here. I cannot do my work. I cannot care for my home. I am too _injured_ to even cross the _room_ unaided. What, precisely, am I meant to do, besides nip at the feathers of the songbird beside my cage?”

“_Cage_,” Damien scoffs.

“I cannot leave. What else would you call my situation?”

“An _undeserved_ and _unappreciated_ kindness,” Damien growls, and the monster gives a gust of laughter.

“Kindness. Is this your idea of being _kind_, then? The bow in hand, the threats, the insults? I should certainly not like to see what your _ire_ looks like, if this is the little honeysuckle at his sweetest.”

“I- I am- it is _Rilla__’s_ kindness you are failing to appreciate. Her compassion, of which you are _entirely_ undeserving.”

“She seems to disagree with you,” the monster hisses, voice low and warm. “She seems to think that a monster- that _I_ am deserving of life, at the very least. I think, perhaps, that the ridiculous creature may even be growing _fond_ of me-”

Damien stands, the speed of his ascent knocking the stool down. “Rilla has no _ fondness _ for a despicable, _ foul _ creature such as yourself, _ demon_, and if you dare to insinuate such a thing again, I will- I- ” Damien pauses, then his scowl deepens further. “You are… you are doing it _ again_.”

“Perhaps I will cease prodding you when you stop reacting so energetically, honeysuckle,” the monster murmurs, his smirk firmly back in place as he watches Damien awkwardly lean to right the stool back onto its feet.

“My _name_ is Sir Damien the Pious, monster, and you would do well to remember, and to address me as such,” he says stiffly. “All of this _songbird_ and _honeysuckle_ nonsense will not stand.”

“Hm,” the monster says. “No.”

“No?”

“No. I have two names for you already. A third simply seems _excessive_.”

Damien chokes, something between a scoff and a laugh, and begins pacing since he feels- too energetic to sit upon the stool, just now. “I will not allow you to antagonize me to distress again, beast. By Saint Damien, I will not. Say whatever you like, call me whatever you prefer, but remember this,” Damien continues pacing, slow like a wildcat, glaring down at the monster in repose. “Know that I _ will _ kill you, when all is said and done.”

The monster tilts his head, his eyes tracking Damien as he moves. “Is that your plan, then?”

“It is simply what is _going_ to happen. I am _meant_ to kill you.”

“Do you intend to wait until I am healed, then? To wait until I can stand, at least, so you do not feel so _monstrous_ yourself, when you draw upon me?”

“I-” Damien grits his teeth, “I would not feel _monstrous_ about slaying a _monster_.”

“Hm. So the delay is simply…”

Damien opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. “I do not need to answer to you, creature. My reasons are my own.”

“I suspect that your reasons are those of the _doctor_, in truth.”

“Be _silent_, will you?”

“Certainly. When you cease haranguing me, I will fall silent as well, but until that point I will attempt to puzzle you out. I imagine you have some… grand designs upon my death. I imagine you have built it up in your mind already; you expect some mighty confrontation, some bright and shining _duel_, perhaps, to keep your precious _Rilla_ from some imagined harm I would inflict-”

“Be silent,” Damien hisses again, his heart thrumming. He- this creature- is Damien so transparent? Is this creature simply so perceptive? “You do not know me. You do not know what I intend. You do not know my reasons.”

“Of course I know your _reasons_. You are a knight, and I am a monster. It is uncomplicated, honeysuckle. Humans quite enjoy their black and white categories, their binary boxes of _good_ and _evil_. If you are good, then clearly I must exist in opposition to that, must I not? I can fulfill that role for you, then, honeysuckle. When your Rilla has mended me, when I am well again,” he says, his voice low and thrumming and _painfully_ indulgent, “we may duel, and then you may slay me at your leisure. If, of course, I do not destroy you first.”

“I will win that fight and you _know_ it,” Damien says, voice low and measured and shaking only slightly.

“You _will_ duel me, then?”

“I will _slay_ you.” Damien snaps. “Now be _silent_.”

“Very well,” the monster says, and Damien notices at last that the tiredness on his scaled face is growing more pronounced as he resettles the blankets again, his four arms moving slowly and carefully. “Fine then. Perhaps the knight has a point. Perhaps even such amusements grow dull in short time… but if you insist on strolling and _staring_ at me- well, honeysuckle, I hope you do not expect that I should simply wallow under your scrutiny. You are a poet, are you not? If the fierceness of your attention is any indication, I believe you are quite as bored as I am with this arrangement. Why not kill two birds, as they say, and entertain us both?”

“I-” Damien sputters, tensing. “_I_ am not here to _entertain_ you, monster!”

“And yet you insist on being so terribly _entertaining_,” the monster sighs, his eyes half-closing to dangerous slits. “Fine. It does not matter. Surely I would be disappointed regardless. I imagine that human poetry is despicably dull beside that of my own kind. All your boring, petty restrictions on everything… I cannot imagine the childish simplicity of human poetry…”

“How-” Damien’s cheeks are _burning_ with his fury. “How _dare_\- I cannot believe- you- _you_\- you have not heard a _syllable_ of _human_ poetry and yet you _dare_ to pass such judgment upon-” he goes breathless for a moment, wordless, before he pulls himself back to coherency. “I do not know what passes for poetry among _your_ despicable ilk, but I will _prove_ to you that my poetry- _our_ poetry is nothing to be so easily dismissed, _monster_. You will see. I will _prove_ it. Listen.”

Damien ceases his pacing, planting his feet and glaring hard at the monster for a long moment as he inhales deeply, then exhales a slow, calming breath, murmuring for tranquility under his breath as he chooses the right words, the right story that may even impress a monster. The monster stares up at him, looking profoundly bored, profoundly unimpressed, and gestures with a clawed, bandaged hand for him to _ go on then_.

Damien begins to speak, and he cannot help the pulse of satisfaction he feels as the monster is drawn into the story, his eyes sharp and attentive, his expression thoughtful and reactive as Damien propels through the poem. In a moment of pause (a carefully curated cliffhanger; Damien is satisfied as well when he can see the monster’s tail flick in irritation, his brow furrowed as he impatiently complains for the poet to continue) Damien retrieves some water from the jug Rilla left at the creature’s bedside, and he stays close beside it when he returns to the story. He leans back against the wall, his exhausted muscles relieved by even the mildest softening, by not needing be held quite so stiffly. Damien realizes, eventually, that he has sunk down, and down, and he is seated on the floor with his back to the wall, gesturing up at the monster as the poem spins in the air between them.

It is an old story, one that Damien knows as well as the lines on his own hands, as well as the curves of his favorite bow, but it is new to the ears of this creature before him. The monster watches him with rapt attention, occasionally scoffing or laughing or tilting his head to ask a question, and Damien tries not to let the smugness show on his face. He was _ right_. Damien was- of course he was. Even a monster cannot deny the way a poem such as this can catch the mind, can effect the soul.

The depth of the creature’s attention upon him makes Damien feel- he feels pleased, perhaps a little dizzy, but of course he can easily blame such feelings on the strain of sleeplessness his mind has been under for days, now. It holds no more meaning than that.

The story dances, rhymes and rhythm playing off of Damien’s tongue with such ease that he barely needs to think of them, his memory so sturdy and moving that he may drift upon it like a boat upon the river.

Like a river. Damien ceases to carry the story, and the story carries him instead. His memory is a river, and Damien drifts upon it.

Judging by the poet’s heartbeat, he is asleep for more than a minute before his words finally fade entirely away. Arum stares at him for a long, long time, then, at the darkness staining beneath his eyes, at the untroubled slackness of his expression in slumber, and then he scoffs, finally settling himself in to rest as he should have done long ago, now, had this irritating creature not interrupted.

Humans. Baffling, troublesome creatures, every one.

Arum flicks his eyes to the poet for another long moment. He measures Damien’s slow sleeping breath to make sure he is truly unconscious for longer than is strictly necessary before he lifts one hand and swats one of the blankets from his overgenerous pile aside, knocking it off the bed to clumsily cover the poet’s lower half, at least. Arum will not attempt to fix the blanket around his shoulders like some sort of _ nursemaid _ (he certainly does not trust his legs enough to attempt leaving the bed to do so), but-

Arum remembers Sir Damien’s hesitant hand, remembers his own muzzy sedated half-wakefulness as the knight pulled the blankets back up, the return of warmth and descent back into the dark of sleep.

Arum frowns deeply, turning away from this foolish little prattler and closing his eyes.

That score is even, now. Arum no longer owes this knight for any kindness.

If only the score with his doctor were so easily settled.

Arum wakes when Rilla bursts through the door in the morning, her eyes a little panicked and her heart hammering. She swings her eyes around the room, and when she sees Damien slumped over on the floor with his back to the wall, snoring lightly with his bow still clutched in one hand despite the blanket clumsily tossed over him, she flicks her eyes to Arum.

“He- I-” she pauses. “He didn’t hurt you?”

“Annoyed, incessantly,” Arum grumbles, picking awkwardly at the sheets. “But… no. He did not hurt me.”

Rilla inhales, then exhales a sigh, looking to the knight curled on the floor again, worry furrowing her brow. “Can’t… can’t believe he… _ again_…” she pushes her wild morning curls out of her face, frowning as she seems to gather her words. “I… I kinda can’t believe he actually fell asleep in the same room as you. No offense.”

“I managed to bore him to sleep eventually. I should be insulted, I think, that he was so unthreatened that he managed slumber. It does not speak highly of my current state.”

“How did you-” she pauses, blinks. “You _bored_ him?”

“He started reciting,” Arum says with a shrug, wincing through the motion, and then he looks quickly away from the knight. “Seemed to lilt himself to sleep, after a while. Foolish little songbird.”

“Hm.” Rilla breathes a laugh, then smiles as warm as the sunlight streaming in around the curtains, and Arum looks away from her as well. “Yeah, he does that sometimes.” She sighs, glancing at Damien again with puzzled, concerned eyes. “Okay. I’ll go get breakfast ready. Should give him a few more minutes of real sleep before he starts freaking out again, at least. D’you want tea or coffee?”

Arum frowns, unsettled by Amaryllis’ easy adjustment to finding her pet knight asleep on the floor. “… Tea, I suppose,” he grumbles, eventually. “And don’t you dare put anything in it.”

“I know, I know. No sweeteners for the monster,” she says with a hand-wave, and then she gives Damien one more worried glance before she goes to start the day properly.

Arum does not blame her for the worry. The knight has the same energy as a firework, and the same degree of self-preservation. Arum would be worried as well, if such a foolish, fast-burning creature belonged to him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damien is dutiful as ever, and Rilla- Rilla has the situation under control. She does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to warn for this time, I don't think? They're all still bad at self care, and Arum is still... being passively suicidal, but if you've read the rest so far, I feel like that's expected. Love you! Happy LKT!

Damien wakes after Arum has already eaten, when Rilla is retrieving his dishes, and he careens back into consciousness with a shuddering gasp. His hand clutches his bow like a lifeline, and he springs to his feet in half a heartbeat, kicking the blanket aside without even seeming to notice it, his eyes wild until they land on Rilla.

Rilla, who only raises her eyebrow at him.

"At least you got _some_ sleep, even if it was on the floor," she says mildly as Damien pants, standing and flicking his eyes around the room, looking away quickly when he meets the monster's eyes. "You okay?"

Damien swallows, then tries to press his hand over his heart, but he realizes that his bow is in the way and blinks in momentary confusion. "R-Rilla, I-" he cuts himself off as he remembers the monster watching them, violet eyes drifting between them curiously. "We can- we should discuss- we should move to the kitchen, I think, if we- if we wish to discuss-"

Rilla tries not to make it obvious that she wants to laugh, at that. Damien… it's not unfair for Damien to feel at least a little bit concerned, for him to want to talk to her privately. It really isn't. Even if it _feels_ silly to Rilla, especially with the blatantly amused look Arum shoots the both of them. She bites her lip and nods, instead, then shoots Arum a look in return, both knowing and warning.

"I'll be back to check on you in a bit, okay Arum?" she says, and Arum wrinkles his snout very slightly as he nods. "Just… shout if you need anything."

Damien stares at her through this exchange, that wounded, mournful expression back in force, but she only smiles lightly and takes his hand (the one not still stubbornly wrapped around his bow, of course), and starts leading him back towards the front room. Arum's eyes flick to their clasped hands, his expression going momentarily puzzled before he flattens it out to neutral again, and Rilla doesn't have time to wonder about that because when they exit the exam room, Damien's mouth is already twisting down into a scowl.

"He- that _beast_\- it tricked me into- into-"

"Into sleeping?" Rilla releases Damien's hand so she can go dump the dishes from breakfast onto the counter, and then she turns and leans against it, watching Damien unhappily begin to pace. "You were exhausted, Damien. If you didn't want to fall asleep in a room with _him_, you should have just stayed in bed with _me_," she says, and she knows she hasn't quite kept the hurt out of her voice when Damien's eyes dart to her in surprise.

"Rilla," he murmurs, and his pacing falters so he can come close to her instead, lifting his hands to touch her shoulders, his thumbs brushing her skin, just gently. "I… I am sorry. It isn't that I did not _want_ to rest with you, my love. I always do. If I had my way, I would never sleep anywhere but beside you. But- but I couldn't- with that creature still beneath your roof, I could not-"

"I know," Rilla sighs, leaning into his touch. "I know once you get a thought in your head, it's hard for you to… I know."

"He is…" Damien's expression twists, his eyebrows furrowing deeply and his lips turning in a frown so deep it approaches a pout.

"A lot," Rilla finishes with a half a smile. "He's a _lot_."

Damien purses his lips, and then after a moment he nods lightly. "I suppose that is one rather concise way to put it, yes. He…"

Rilla raises an eyebrow. "He… what?"

Damien doesn't seem to know how to continue for a long moment, and then he shakes his head and takes both of her hands in his instead. "Rilla, oh Rilla, I _must_ speak my heart."

"Had you stopped at some point?" she says, but her teasing tone falls a little flat, and his expression goes hurt as well as pleading. "Sorry. What- what do you need to say, Damien?"

"You know that I love you," he says, almost tearfully, "and I _trust_ you. I trust your brilliance and I trust your judgment, but I am _terrified_, my love. I trust you with the whole of my heart, but- but I could not possibly trust _him_."

Rilla clenches her teeth, exhaling sharply. "Well, good. You don't _have_ to trust him. All you gotta do is trust _me_, and everything will be fine. I have the situation totally under control."

"But…" Damien trails off weakly. "But what do you plan to _do_ with him, Rilla? Surely- surely with your skill he will be mended in no time at all, but what happens _then_, my flower? You cannot keep him _here_ like some sort of- of broken-winged pigeon, like some sort of pet-"

"Damien, he's not an _animal_-"

"_Exactly_, Rilla. What will you _do_, when he is healed? Do you intend to mend him and then let him traipse out your front door, to send him on his merry way? Do you intend to _escort_ him home, to keep other knights at bay? What will you _do_?"

"I-" Rilla laughs uncomfortably, pulling her hands away. "Look, he's in no state to be considering all that just yet, Damien. He still can't even get out of the cot, really. There's no reason to get ahead of ourselves-"

"Rilla."

"That's _so far down the line_, Damien, you can't expect-"

"You cannot continue to treat him without a _plan_, love. An injured monster-" he sighs. "This creature… he does not _currently_ pose a threat. That, I will concede. But when he is well again, you cannot know what he will _do_. Even if he feels he owes _you_ to the point where he shall not harm you, how can you know he will not harm _others_, Rilla? How can you be certain that your kindness will not visit misery and death upon others?"

"He hasn't tried to hurt you either, Damien."

"I am _armed_, Rilla. It would be foolishness itself to attempt to-"

"Wouldn't be that hard to kill a man while he's asleep," Rilla says.

"I-" Damien pauses, swallows, looks decidedly uncomfortable. "I… I will concede that point as well. Though, it may be for _your_ sake alone that he did not harm me. Clearly the debt he owes you is _enormous_, perhaps even a monster would understand the weight of such a mercy. But you cannot know he will not harm others when he is- _if_ you allow him to leave this place."

Rilla narrows her eyes, just slightly. "Alright. So far, you've basically said that I can't keep him here _and_ I can't let him leave, either. Kinda get the feeling that you're trying to paint me into a corner here, Damien."

"Rilla… my dearest, my love, you _know_ what I must do." He gives a shaky sigh when she scowls and looks away from him. "Rilla, he cannot be allowed to live. It is far too dangerous-"

"Oh, so you're back to calling Arum an _it_ again, now that you wanna talk about killing him?"

"N-" Damien cuts off, winces, then wrings his hands for a moment before he continues in a muted voice, "n-no, I- I was referring to- to the _situation_, not to the b-beast himself." He pauses again, visibly uncomfortable. "His… Ar- that is his… his _name_, then?"

"Yeah," Rilla says, still frowning. "It is. Though sometimes he gets pouty if you don't put _Lord_ in front of it."

"Lord?" Damien echoes in surprise. "You- he- a _Lord_?"

"I mean, I don't know _exactly_ what it entails, but apparently he rules that big swamp up north."

Damien blanches. "The Swamp of Titan's- _that_ swamp? A deadly, dangerous, _dire_ place! Oh, all the more reason for caution, for fear! Oh Saint Damien above, oh grace us with your Tranquility and wisdom, protect us from the cruelty of a beast who could tame such a place-"

"Alright, _that_ doesn't seem fair. The jungle around the Citadel is dangerous too, Damien, but that doesn't mean you'd call the _Queen_ cruel."

Damien swallows, his wild expression calming slightly as he fixes his eyes on her again. "I- I suppose that is- but, but! Rilla, that swamp has been _even more_ dangerous than in the past, as of late. There are rumors, there are some truly frightening tales coming from the north recently-"

Damien pauses, then, and Rilla's face has gone blank as well. They stare at each other for a moment, both thinking quite similar things, and then Rilla's eyes flick to Arum's door, which is-

Still cracked open, just barely. Rilla swallows, uncomfortable, and when she speaks again her voice is more muted.

"That seems well beside the point, Damien, and I think you know that."

"Very well," Damien says, equally uncomfortable. "But you have not offered any solutions either, my love. You may say that the time when the beast will be well again is distant, but such time will slip past long before you are ready for it if you do not have a _plan_."

"My plan, _Damien_, is definitely not gonna be you _killing him_, even if I don't have another answer for you right now." She crosses her arms over her chest, trying not to let her voice become a shout. "I've been a little _busy_, if you haven't noticed, just keeping him alive in the first place. I haven't exactly had any time to plan out something that won't be an issue for- for a _while_, yet."

"A while," Damien echoes. "Do you not have an idea of how long, then? Is his situation still so precarious that you cannot speculate yet upon that?"

"He- I mean, his progress is still slow. It might speed slightly after I treat- well, there's a chance he'll start improving faster soon, but I don't exactly have a lot of experience with patients like _him_. It's not like I have a great idea of how long lizard-dragon-bugs take to get back on their feet, you know?"

"Indeed," Damien says. "Is that not all the _more_ reason to be prepared, in anticipation that he may heal faster than you expect?"

"I haven't talked to him about it," Rilla admits. "I just- I'm not sure he trusts me completely yet, and there's a decent chance that a question like that will make him suspicious."

Damien blinks. "_He_ does not trust _you_?" He scoffs, then shakes his head. "Of all the absurd-"

"I'm engaged to a man who's practically begging me to let him _slay the beast_," Rilla drawls. "If I were a monster, I wouldn't be the most trusting of someone like me either."

"But you _saved_ the creature," Damien says dismissively. "Surely that-"

"Yeah, and I'm still _trying_ to save him, Damien."

Damien inhales as if preparing to counter that, but then his eyes flick to the window, to the morning light outside, and he sighs. "I- I cannot stay much longer. I am- I intended to mention, last night, but my mind-"

"What, Damien?"

"I will be leaving, for- for a few days, at the very least. The new Investigator General will be bringing a rather small team to- to resolve a situation a little ways north." He pauses. "Not- not _quite_ so far north as our previous discussion," he adds. "But- I am needed. As much as the idea of leaving you alone with such a creature terrifies me-"

"I don't know how many times I gotta say that he's not gonna hurt me before you _get_ it, Damien."

"I don't know how you can be so sure, my love," Damien says softly, achingly. "I trust enough that I- that I will leave, I will leave you with the creature under your roof and your care, and I will not… I will not harm him, this day. But when I return… when I return, we will need to… to _resolve_ this discussion. A decision must be made, and I think we both know that there is only one possible outcome. There is only one way to return our lives to normalcy, to ensure safety for the people it is both of our duties, in our own way, to protect."

"Uh." Rilla scowls. "_We_ definitely don't _both know that,_" she says, tone going sour with mocking. "Saints, I should make you a recording of me saying all the shit you seem determined not to understand. Maybe on the twelfth repeat you'll get the _picture_. He's my _patient_, Damien, which means it's my job to keep him safe. And if you want to hurt him so badly, that means I'll have to keep him safe from _you_, too."

"Rilla, please don't- don't-" he pauses, furrows his brow, and then sighs deeply. "No."

"No?"

"I cannot stay but a few minutes more. I believe this conversation is larger than our current time will allow. I do not enjoy the thought of leaving words unsaid-"

Rilla snorts a laugh. She really can't help it. She winces when he gives her an injured look.

"Er- yes. Regardless. We will resume this… discussion upon my return. Please, love, just- please do not grow complacent with this creature. Please take care. I love you too dearly to think that you could be in any sort of danger, but especially not danger that could be easily avoided with just the barest breath of caution. Please, love."

Rilla stuffs down her frustration, and instead comes close to him again. She touches his shoulder, and then just damns the whole situation and slips her arms around him in a hug instead. "I love you too, Damien," she sighs. "And you damn well better be careful out there too, whatever it is you're gonna be doing. Promise me you won't let yourself be distracted by this when you should be worrying about what's out _there_," she says, and then she pulls back enough to meet his eyes. She wonders for a moment if she looks quite as worried as _he_ does. "I don't want to be the reason you get hurt, Damien."

"I promise," he says gently. "I assure you that I will be entirely focused, entirely engrossed in my mission until it is complete."

Rilla doesn't really believe that. Damien isn't exactly the best at keeping his mind from running away with him, but- it's nice to hear him say it, anyway. She sighs.

"C'mon, then. I'll help you get your armor back on, and then I'll walk you to the bridge, at least. I could do with a bit of fresh air."

* * *

Arum curls his claws in the sheets when he hears the door click shut, when he hears two distinct sets of footsteps maunder off into the day. Ten minutes or so, Amaryllis had casually (or less than casually, if the light strain in her voice had been any indication) called out to him through the door before she ran off with the knight. Ten minutes. That is how long she will be gone.

Not enough time to do _everything_ he needs, but-

He waits only until he can no longer hear them, and then he pushes the blankets off. With a care bordering on the absurd (he cannot risk falling, he refuses to be set back again), he swings his legs out, letting his claws click on the hardwood below. Behind him, he curls his tail down and retrieves the first of his stolen prizes from beneath the bed. A crutch: primitive, so far as such tools go, but just tall enough to be useful to him, and he positions it beneath his lower right arm and grits his teeth and he _stands_-

He stands and does not fall, this time.

(Kicking the crutch back beneath the bed when he had fallen two days ago had been an exercise in flailing panic. He has rarely been more mortified.)

Arum stands, balancing carefully with the help of the crutch and his tail, and he breathes unsteadily for a long moment before he does anything else.

He has his goals in mind. He knows precisely where this little creature keeps everything he will need, even if he is not entirely steady enough to enact his plan just yet.

He has a deadline, now. When the knight returns from his newest expedition, Arum does not think Amaryllis will be able to keep him from slaying Arum, and- and now that Arum's suspicions about the Keep are all but confirmed-

(Rumors. _What_ rumors? When Arum overheard those words he wanted to tear the blankets apart, wanted to roar and rage and _demand_ that the knight explain- what does he mean, that the swamp, _Arum's swamp_, is becoming more dangerous? That it is growing more _frightening_? What does he _mean_? What is the Keep doing? What is _happening_ to Arum's home, in his absence?)

He has a deadline. Arum will not wait, not a moment longer than absolutely necessary.

Either he will die in his planned attempt, or he will return home. One way or the other, his Keep will have a familiar again.

He grits his teeth, focuses on his balance, and step by careful step he begins to cross the room.

* * *

Arum is still safely in his cot, giving Rilla a baleful glare as she returns, and she stubbornly pretends that she hadn't been worried about that. It wasn't like she expected him to disappear, or to hurt himself by accident, but- Rilla hasn't really left the _hut_ since she found the lizard. It just feels _weird_, to leave him alone. 

"Here," Rilla says brightly, pressing a vial into Arum's hand as he blinks up at her, startled. "Take that, please."

"Wh-why?" he barks suspiciously, holding it away from himself. "What is it?"

"The antidote. It should neutralize what's left of the poison from that basilisk," she says, and she grins sharply when Arum flinches in surprise. "Yeah. I _told_ you I was gonna figure it out. Honestly, it's a good thing I did, because even without that talon still in there, the poison would have taken a _while_ for your body to naturally work through. So yeah, I'm just gonna reiterate the whole, _it's important to just tell me things_, thing. Y'know. If you actually _want_ to get better."

Arum wrinkles his snout, narrows his eyes at the vial, then uncorks it and takes it in one go. His expression goes even more dour at the taste (understandable, Rilla thinks), and then he presses the empty glass back into Rilla's hands. "I would say I _apologize_, but I would be _lying_," he hisses. "Perhaps I would be more likely to _trust_ if I were not receiving such wildly different messages from my two ambassadors to humanity."

Rilla snorts. "Yeah, that's not entirely unfair," she says. "Damien's not gonna be back for a few days or so, though, so you don't have to worry about him hovering for a while."

Arum raises an eyebrow. "Hm."

Rilla tucks the empty vial into a pocket and starts the routine of checking the monster over. It's becoming almost too familiar, by now, she thinks. She talks through it again to keep him comfortable, and he frowns deeply when she tsks at him over his frill, which she is beginning to worry might permanently bear some nicks and tears if he can't stop flaring it so frequently.

"It hardly matters," he mutters, looking away from her. "It's not as if it will _kill_ me. It is only a frill."

"Yeah, but- well, I'm sure it still _hurts_, and whether or not you care about the aesthetic appearance, reopening the wounds over and over certainly isn't good for you. Just- try your best not to move it if you can, okay?"

Arum rolls his eyes. "Yes, _doctor_."

He tugs the blankets back up on his own (he's getting stronger, she notes with some satisfaction) and then he sighs, frowning and looking towards the window, despite the curtains in the way of his view.

There's something elegant about him, a sad sort of tension to his stillness, and Rilla has to bite back the urge to just ask-

_What happens when you're healed_?

She wishes Damien hadn't stuck the question in her head. It's just- a pain in the ass, really. She picks a different question instead.

("I think the creature is… I think he is restless," Damien says uncomfortably, when they are in sight of the bridge.

"Of course he's restless, Damien, he's barely better than bedridden."

Her voice bounces on the b's, and she smiles as she sees Damien tilt his head and file her words away for some later composition.

"Yes, needless to say," he says after a moment. "But what I mean is that he seems… understimulated? Or- _bored_, I suppose," he says with an awkward smile. "Perhaps it would be worthwhile to- to provide him with something to occupy his mind. To keep him out of trouble," the knight mumbles, his soft and calloused hand lightly squeezing her own.

Rilla wonders, brow furrowed, why she hadn't thought of that already.)

"Hey," she says, and he turns his face back toward her with a suspicious look. "Do monsters have their own written language?"

"No," he says, less suspicious now but certainly more concerned. "We have _several_. Many of them complex and individual and private and certainly not the business of some nosy _human_."

"Can you read _our_ language?" she prods, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course," he grumbles. "It is only _one_ language, it is easy enough to understand."

"Huh," she says. "Good to know."

He looks suspicious again at that, but he also looks _tired_, and she's familiar enough with that expression on his face to know that he'll probably be asleep again in ten minutes or so. That's fine. She's not sure exactly what kind of books a monster like him might enjoy reading, but Rilla can use his time napping to sift through her little library and find something that might just catch his interest.

Hell, if she's already going for treason, she might see if he'll have some insight into some of the books her dads left behind, while she's at it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rilla is starting to feel a little like they're bonding. Arum is unconvinced. Damien is on his own journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fam this one gets weird. Chapter specific warnings for overt threats of violence, characters being restrained, implications of a canon-compliant death, continuing passive suicidal ideation, recklessness in the general sense, and I think that's it? Oh forgive me, this chapter is long and my day has been even longer. Hey, I love you. <3

Rilla fills a basket with anything she thinks might interest him even a _ little_. She doesn't have _ much _ of a fiction section (most of it is borrowed from or gifted by Damien, actually), so she just kinda scoops that entire little shelf in with the rest.

"Obviously I don't know what you might like," she says later in the afternoon when he's woken again, and he stares at her in alarm over the assorted pile as she sets it down next to the cot, where he'll be able to reach without much strain. "But I figured that now that you're awake more often, you might want some reading material."

"I don't-" he sputters, frowning down at the books in indignation. "I cannot imagine any _ human _ storybooks could hold my attention for a single moment."

"That's fine," Rilla says with a shrug. "I'm pretty sure I don't have any kids' reading material, so you should be safe on that front. There's a _ bit _ of fiction in there, but that's not really my thing so I can't give you any personal recommendations there. Mostly it's field guides, bestiaries, treatises on certain scientific concepts, collections of recipes, censuses of certain herb families, medical guides- just a whole bunch about a whole bunch, really. If you get bored enough, I'm sure _ something _ in there will be worth a read," she says casually, and then while he's still stammering through a growl she gives him a bright, disarming smile (he actually pulls his head back, blinking) and then she skips right back to the door. "I've got an experiment I gotta keep an eye on for an hour or so, I'm sure you can keep yourself out of trouble for that long, but if you need me just shout, okay?"

He stares at her, mouth hanging just slightly open, so she grins a little wider and leaves him to it, keeping the door cracked just an inch or so as she goes.

He'll never pick a single one of the damn things up if she's there to gloat about it, but if she just leaves him to stew in his own inactivity unsupervised for a while, she's sure the temptation right there next to him will do the trick.

Sure enough, the next time she comes in (current pretense: a little cadre of plants by the window require watering. Could it have waited? Almost certainly), he's pretending to sleep (she can tell the difference) and the books are _ definitely _ rifled through. She's almost positive that it's at _ least _ one tome lighter, actually, and she's pretty confident that if she snooped she'd find the missing book tucked into the covers or under the lizard's pillow.

When she comes in with dinner he's given up the pretense on his end, scowling and waving one particular book in the air between them.

"What is this _ nonsense? _ " he snarls. "This information is _ spurious _ at best, Amaryllis. _ Some _ entries are passable, perhaps, but clearly you know _ nothing _ about-"

She tilts her head to try to figure out which book he's taken such offense at, and she's moderately unsurprised to see that it's one of the bestiaries. Okay, fair.

"Which ones are wrong?" she asks as she sets his food down on the table beside him, making no effort to disguise her enthusiasm, and he pauses, blinking at her. "I had Damien snag that from a library in the Citadel so I could make my own copy- with corrections, obviously. Actually, hang on-"

She spins on her heel and jogs to retrieve her half-written pile of unbound notes and her recorder from the front room, and she's already recording and shuffling through the pages when she returns.

"Which ones are bunk?" she asks with relish. "Frankly I've never trusted that author, I don't think he ever actually came within ten _ miles _ of the Western Wastes. His descriptions of western monsters always seemed the most vague, and they don't match up with other reports and firsthand accounts I'm aware of."

Arum snorts. "That stands to reason," he growls, and then he smacks the page with the back of a hand. "Sickle-Claws are _ feathered, _ obviously, and half the size he has claimed."

"I _ knew _ it," she says, pulling the stool close and sitting by the bed. "That fraud wouldn't know an Everdead if someone whipped a branch back in his face."

He laughs again, apparently just as amused by that mental image as Rilla is, and then he starts flipping through the book, pointing out mistakes and false claims and outright fabrications with a smug sort of pleasure, and Rilla shows him her own notes, her amendments and additions from her own research, and he wrinkles his snout but he can't seem to find a complaint to voice, except specifically regarding her sideline notes on the magic involved in certain creatures.

"That isn't how magic _ works_, Amaryllis." He shakes his head. "You can't _ predict _ it, because it is _ by definition _ unpredictable. If you try to shove it into a single labeled box all you will do is cut your hands in the attempt. _ Humans _ cannot possibly comprehend the true incomprehensibility of the larger universe."

Rilla raises an eyebrow. "I can _comprehend_ quite a lot, Arum."

"Perhaps," he says with a sneer. "But if you expect magic to conform to consistent _ rules _ like your other natural and mathematical _ laws_, you will be _ sorely _ disappointed," he hisses, gesturing to another book from the pile. "Magic is _ larger_ than that. It is _ outside _ of such constraints, as the Universe itself is."

"Just because it has different rules, doesn't mean it's incomprehensible-"

"No, no-" he shakes his head sharply and then winces.

"Careful, Arum, c'mon-"

"Hush, it is simply _ sore, _ little doctor. As I was saying- magic does not have _ different _ rules. There _ are no rules. _"

"_Everything _ has rules, Arum. It's just a matter of figuring them out, regardless of how complex or granular-"

"Your assumption that everything in the Universe _ can _ be understood is precisely why you will never be _ able _ to understand, human. You cannot see outside your own level. I have moved _ beyond _ that."

Rilla frowns, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Cool. Good for you."

He chokes, _ almost _ a third laugh. "That- you ridiculous little-"

"I'm sure all that big picture stuff is _ real fun, _ Arum, and if you actually _ tried _ to explain any of it I'm sure it would be fascinating as hell, but if it doesn't have structure, if it can't be used _ reliably_, I don't really see the point."

"It- it is not _ meant _ to be used, Amaryllis, it simply is."

"See, and that's cool too, but my needs as a _ doctor _ and a researcher mean that I'm less interested in the whole cosmic mystery and _ more _ interested in practical application," she says, tapping the book in his claws. "I learn the rules so that I understand how they can be used. If there aren't any rules- well, that's not exactly going to expand my toolkit, is it? Either it's _ understandable _ and useful to me, or you're right and it's incomprehensible, which means it's not much more than a curiosity, y'know?"

He frowns more deeply, turning his face away from her and making a noncommittal noise.

She pokes at the book again, and he blinks at her warily. "Hey. What about this one? I've never seen any other documentation of Syokoy as far northwest as he claims."

His snout wrinkles again, but his posture relaxes slightly as he growls into another scathing correction, and Rilla relaxes too. It's almost easy, like this. Almost comfortable.

* * *

One thing that's become more awkward now that Arum is consistently lucid: bathing.

And, like, Rilla is a professional, obviously. She's needed to give sponge baths to bed-bound patients more times than she could count, and she's already bathed him once while he was much less coherent, but-

He's so, so embarrassed to need the help.

Now that he's strong enough, she can let him do most of the work at least, and the only embarrassing, strangely charged part of the process is when she needs to help him wash his back. He can't really reach behind himself, yet, with how torn up his front is, with one of his wrists broken, so she has to scoot behind him and scrub down his gently gleaming scales.

He really doesn't seem to have many scars, beneath his newer injuries. She wonders about that, but she knows better than to ask. She just does her job, doing her best not to flinch when he does.

* * *

Rilla tries not to revive the argument about magic if she can avoid it. She's definitely _ interested _ in it, she _ wants _ to know what he'll say, really, but- it agitates him to a degree that she figures is probably not great for his current state. His throat is nearly recovered (his voice is still rough and fascinating, but there's a sort of murmuring musicality to it, too, now that he's had enough time to recover from the near-drowning part of his injuries), so she would really rather avoid making the monster shout. She'll pin that one for later.

Not that they don't argue. He's remarkably opinionated, and he takes umbrage with a _number_ of the books in her collection. He seems baffled by just the structure of most of her instructional and encyclopedic tomes. Anything that's arranged alphabetically _infuriates_ him.

"It is entirely _arbitrary, takatakataka._ They may as well be in an order that is _entirely_ random."

"In what way would that be helpful?"

"There is a _ list _ at the beginning, and it tells you _ exactly _ where everything can be found!"

Rilla raises an eyebrow. "Uh… and?"

"Anyone may read this and find the information!"

Rilla blinks. "That's… kind of the point? To share the information?"

Arum pulls his head back, eying her in alarm. "That- I- but- if anyone can access it, how can it be useful to you? If anyone can do what _ you _ can do, how can you barter your skills?"

"Hm," Rilla frowns, just slightly. "I mean, just looking at my own profession- just because someone _ reads _ a book of remedies, doesn't mean they'll have the skills to implement them. It's less than half of it, even. You need training, too, an apprenticeship, and then personal experience. Practice. The books are _important_ to the learning process, and no one can be expected to hold _ all _ that information in their head at the same time, but it's not the whole of it."

He tilts his head, considering that. "I suppose."

"Besides," she says, "I'm sure there _ are _ books with secrets, books that _ aren't _ meant to be shared, but those are probably kept somewhere hidden."

"Interesting," he hisses.

"Okay, so- if monster books aren't _ meant _ to give information to others, what's the point of them?"

"To save information for _ yourself_. My predecessors-" he pauses.

She knows that look, by now. He thinks he's said too much. She rolls her eyes, sighs, and changes the subject.

* * *

Rilla isn't sleeping well.

Her sleep is strange apparently by nature; she sleeps deeply but in short bursts, and she has a habit of rising in the middle of the night for some water or to relieve herself only to be distracted by a book or an idea or an experiment clear until morning. Hell, she'll sleep _whenever_, for an hour or so at a time. It amuses Damien, but his own sleep habits are so firmly regimented by his work (when he isn't being plagued to sleeplessness by his mind) that he rarely wakes when she slips from the bed at night.

Currently, though, she's having a little bit of a hard time falling asleep at all.

Damien knows how to take care of himself. She knows that. She's not entirely sure he's _ capable _ of losing a fight. He might get hurt, that's happened entirely too often, but- he wins. He always wins, eventually, even if he has to put himself through hell, first-

She turns over again, presses her face into the pillow, sighs into the dark.

They have an argument to finish, she thinks. Damien would never leave a narrative arc like that unsatisfied.

She gets to sleep eventually. It's enough.

* * *

Arum isn't in his cot when Rilla comes in with dinner the third day after Damien leaves, and that's-

That's so entirely surprising that Rilla just kind of- _ stops_, staring at the empty cot with the blankets kicked down for an extended moment, her brow furrowed in confusion, and she's almost _ relieved _ when she hears the distinct click of claws on hardwood behind her before she has a moment of _ wait that's probably not good-_

The scaled arm wraps around her midsection from behind, and Rilla jolts, automatically pulling forward and away. He holds tight, though. Shockingly tight, actually, and then there is cool metal by her neck and Rilla knows her own damn scalpel easily and she goes still, because Rilla may be stubborn but she's not _stupid_.

"_Arum_," she says, and he growls behind her. She's not- _ scared_, really. The scalpel almost makes it ridiculous, considering the claws. "Arum what the hell are you-"

"I'm _ leaving_, you foolish little primate," he hisses.

"You aren't well enough-"

"I don't care what you _ think_."

"Well you _ should_, Arum, because you can hardly stand and if you think you're going to make it ten steps-"

"I appear to be standing perfectly well just at the moment, little doctor."

She twists just slightly, glancing back towards him as best she can, and she sees that he's stolen one of her crutches. It's not big enough for him, he's _ remarkably _ tall when he's not tucked into her cot, and it doesn't look at all _ comfortable _ tucked under his lower arm like that, but it's working enough that he's upright, at least. He adjusts his arm around her slightly, growling low.

"Arum," Rilla breathes, and she knows the _ exact _ pressure the scalpel in Arum's hands will require to break the skin. He is nowhere near that pressure, but she's very aware of it as an abstract concept, regardless. "Arum this is _ stupid _ and you know it."

"Can't even treat me with some respect when I could slit your little throat," he snarls, and she can hear how labored his breathing is. He _ really _ shouldn't be standing like this, stolen crutch or no. "Not an ounce of self-preservation in your absurd, fragile body."

"I could say the same damn thing about you, you ridiculous-" she cuts off as Arum shifts his grip on her, not because she's afraid of what he'll do, but because the hiss he gives as he moves sounds more like he's in pain than trying to threaten. "You're gonna get yourself _ killed _ because you're too stubborn to just _ wait _ until you're actually well enough to-"

"You don't have the first clue what you're talking about. I do not have time to _ convalesce_. I have one purpose, I have one duty, and every moment I lie in that absurd little bed I am _ failing _ it. I cannot think, I cannot- I need to return home. I do not care if you understand why, Amaryllis."

"Arum-"

"I thank you for services rendered, such as they were, little doctor. My death would have been assured without you, that is undeniable. And for that, I will not harm you, so long as you do not force my hand," he hisses close by her ear, and then he lifts the last of his hands, and he is holding one of Rilla's syringes with it.

"Arum," Rilla breathes, "what-"

"This is the injection you gave to me before you plucked the basilisk's claw from my ribs. It kept consciousness from me rather effectively for a number of hours. So, little doctor, I must now trust to your expertise."

He adjusts his grip again, meeting her eye over her shoulder and pulling the scalpel further away from her skin.

"Have I gotten the dosage _ correct_, Amaryllis?" he asks, quite seriously, his tone quiet and measured though she can feel him trembling very slightly against her.

She pulls her eyes away from his with some effort and looks at the syringe in question, and then she bites her lip. "It- I mean, good job because you matched exactly the dosage I gave to you, but the thing is-"

"I'm leaving, little human, and nothing you say is going to _ stop_-"

"If you inject me with that I'll go into a coma, and there's a distinct chance I could die." She inhales shakily as Arum blinks at her, then narrows his eyes suspiciously. "You're a _ monster_, Arum, and your metabolism and internal structure are _ much _ different from mine. What was perfectly fine and low-risk for _ you _ could absolutely kill me."

He stares hard at her for a long moment, frowning hard and trembling lightly, and then he apparently decides she must be telling the truth because he exhales deeply and moves the syringe much further away from her. She tries not to sag in relief, but the tension in her muscles eases enough that she's _ positive _ that he must feel it.

"_Thank _ you," she says. "Now just- put down the-"

"I am certain you must have some form of _ binding _ in this little hut of yours," he interrupts in a growl, and Rilla blinks, not quite understanding him for a long moment. "Ropes, or scarves or some such. _ Bandages_, those will suffice."

"Arum you _ can't _ leave," she tries again, but he's ignoring her now, edging the both of them across the floor towards the cabinets where he's _ definitely _ seen her store her bandages. "You won't make it four steps, you'll just get _ killed _ and after you've made so much progress-"

"You can stop _ acting _ at your leisure, Amaryllis. I am perfectly aware that you do not have the first _ clue _ what will happen when you are unable to keep me beneath your thumb any longer. I am simply skipping the intermediary steps. I will not wait for either your pet knight to return with his bow again, or for you to attempt to make me into another pet for yourself. I am _ leaving, _ I am _ going home, _ and you will not stop me."

When they're close enough to the cabinets, Arum sets the syringe down, then knocks it further along the countertop, out of Rilla's reach. He pulls out a roll of bandages, then glares down at her as she scowls back up at him.

"This is a completely stupid plan," she reiterates, but Arum only frowns more deeply and pushes her to sit on the stool.

"Possibly," he growls, and she rolls her eyes as he pulls her wrists behind her back with surprising gentleness, binding them together at the wrists. "But at least it _ is _ a plan, instead of this nonsense inaction."

Rilla tries to pull away, tries to make things difficult for him, but only for a moment. He _ does _ still have that scalpel- but really, honestly, she's been working so _ hard _ to treat him, to make him well again, and the idea of jerking away too fast or elbowing him to get him away, of twisting his broken wrist (the one wrapped around her, least needed for dexterity, not a bad maneuver), the idea of doing something that might reopen his wounds or hurt him worse- it makes her feel a little sick, actually. She's _ terrified _ of what's going to happen to Arum if he tries to walk out her front door on his own with no weapons and a flimsy crutch that can barely support his weight, he's going to get himself hurt, get himself _ killed- _

He's going to hurt himself, but Rilla can't make herself hurt _ him_, to try to get him to stop. She just _ can't_.

"Please," she tries, and his violet eyes flick up to her from where he's knelt to bind her ankles to the legs of the stool. "Arum. _ Don't _ do this."

He stands slowly, and she really hasn't gotten the chance to see him at his proper height, yet. He does look a little more dangerous, when he can glare down at her like that with his frill half-flared (he just won't stop pushing himself, the giant _ ass_).

"And what, precisely, do you propose, then? You and your knight had a rather unproductive argument the other day, I must say, though it did rather effectively clarify a number of points for me. The first being, my land is in danger, without me. The second, that your _ Damien _ can only be collared for so long before he decides to put an end to this. The third, that you, little doctor, do not have a strategy for how your treatment of the monster will _ end. _ You don't have the first _ clue _ what you will do with me, when I am too strong again to push and prod and poke-"

"If you die-"

"Then I certainly will not be your _ problem _ anymore, little doctor," he hisses, and then he turns to limp his way towards the door.

"All of this is for nothing if you just- Arum, _ please_, I know I've been- stuck in the moment, I know I haven't been thinking about what comes next, and yeah, a lot of that was because I _ don't know, _ and I'm _ scared _ because I hate not knowing, but- but you don't have to do this. We can figure it out together, _ please _ Arum-"

He pauses at the door, leaning heavily against the frame, and then he looks over his shoulder, vivid purple fixing on her one more time.

"Farewell, Amaryllis," he says, his voice almost gentle, "and… thank you."

He closes the door behind him, ignoring the way that Rilla shouts after him, the way she keeps calling his name until she hears the front door open into the night. After a long moment, charged and quiet even of Rilla's voice, that door closes as well.

* * *

Somewhere distant, on a gently lapping shore, Sir Damien digs a grave.

His stomach turns, and turns, and his palms hurt against the wood of his shovel. His companion has sweat on her brow, but that is the only indication of any strain. Her expression remains stern and immobile, and Damien cannot possibly say whether she feels as he does, just now. In truth, he does not know if Sir Caroline ever feels… conflicted.

Dirt scatters as it falls. Sir Damien digs to lapping-wave rhythm and intermittent pigeon-coo, with his heart pounding as if it wishes to escape.

He wonders, in a continual refrain, if this was truly the right choice, if there was no other way. If this man could not have been _saved_.

Monsters, witches, and mercy.

Sir Damien knows good from evil. He knows monsters from man. He knows dark magic from miracle. He knows what is right, and he knows what is wrong.

(The shore laps soft as breath, the lake stands mirror-still, and he has not heard Saint Damien, has not so much as felt a hint of him since-)

Sir Damien wonders if he knows anything at all.

* * *

When Rilla finally, _ finally _ hears the bandage start to tear, she could just about shout with triumph. Instead, she grits her teeth, grins hard, and pulls _ harder. _ It rips more, pulling against her wrists, and then her arms are free so quickly that she almost smacks her hands into the bedside table in their wide swinging arc. She pulls her hands in front of herself first, rubbing at her wrists and assessing the damage (bruised, a little raw, very minor friction burns, nothing a little aloe and time won't fix), and then she reaches for a drawer. Arum may have been paying a little too much attention to where her medical supplies are housed, but Rilla has more than one damned scalpel, and she has it in her hands and slicing through the bandages tied around her legs in no time flat. She hasn't been pulling on those, so no damage to inventory _ there, _ at least.

She stands and stumbles just a bit, her muscles rubbery from sitting in that position for- for however long she had been, but she doesn't have time to do some _ stretches _ because Arum may be slowed down by his injuries and she knows what _ direction _ he'll go, but he still has a hell of a head start on her, and she can't afford-

Rilla nearly trips over her own feet when she bolts into the front room, and this time it isn't because of sore muscles.

It's because Arum is still here.

He's curled up on the floor, his back against her front door, his arms wrapped loosely around his knees. He flicks his eyes up towards her for less time than it would take to blink, and then he looks away, his eyes vaguely on the floor.

"Arum. Oh, thank the _ Saints _ you didn't-"

"Apparently even _ my _ stupidity has limits, yes."

"_Arum_," she repeats, uncertain and honestly a little scared that he's managed to hurt himself between his room and the door, somehow.

"You did not inform me precisely how _ close _ we are to your Citadel," he mutters into a palm, and she holds her own hand over her heart as it tries, valiantly, to slow its racing. "Within _sight_, even in the dark of night."

"You- Arum-"

"Congratulations," he growls dully, still not looking at her. "You were correct. I did not take a single _ step _ outside your little abode. Foolishness, all of it. Without my- without- even at my best it would take a week and a half at the least to reach my home from here unaided. Hobbling in unfamiliar terrain with this-" he pauses to kick the crutch beside him, sending it spinning across the floor, "_thing, _ in this condition, it would be impossible. Pointless. And I-" he pauses, his lip curling down miserably, "I _ want _ to return home _ alive, _ in spite of it all."

She steps a bit closer, and he turns his face away so that he is no longer looking at the floor by her feet. "I… Arum, I'm sorry. I know this must be… I know you're probably homesick-" he chokes out a bitter, unpleasant laugh, "and- and I know how hard it is, to be pulled away from your home. From- from your family," she suggests, and he flinches, curling his arms more tightly around his knees, pulling himself into a ball in front of her door and scowling. "I should have tried to talk to you about it sooner. Look, I- I'd be lying if I said I know exactly how I'm going to make it happen, but- but I'm not helping you so that you can run off and get killed by knights or _ whatever _ trying to get home. I'm not putting in all this hard work just for you to _ die_," she says dryly, and she's gratified when he gives a smaller, less choking sort of laugh at that.

She takes another step, and when she's almost beside him he still won't look up, so-

She turns, leans her back against the wall, and slides down to sit beside him, sighing. He finally glances her way, then, if only to give her a look of distinct alarm.

"I want you well again, Arum. I want you healed, and I want you _ safe_."

"_Why? _ " he hisses low, his voice _ shaking. _

"It's my responsibility to look out for my patients. In your case," she smiles, very slightly, "I think that means I'm gonna have to get you home. I don't know how, but- but we'll figure it out."

He blinks at her, then ducks his head. "_We _ will figure it out," he repeats, skeptically.

"Yeah," she says. "We."

Slowly, she turns her hand, not exactly _ reaching _ for him but just- opening her palm towards him, spreading her fingers in gentle invitation.

He stares at her hand for a long moment, his eyes darting to the reddening mark on her wrist, his tongue flicking nervously in the air, and then he looks away.

She tries not to feel too disappointed-

A scaled palm settles uncertainly over hers, clawed fingers loosely curling around her own. He won't look at her, he's frowning and his _ damned _ frill is flared again, but-

"We," he murmurs, and Rilla smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please understand how much i love you that i did not cliffhanger this. dude i could have cut that an entire scene earlier. but this felt.... better.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Together" isn't really an all at once sort of thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. I love you. Also this chapter is even longer than the last one. Also also it has one of my favorite scenes in it, so that's fun, and we're getting quite close to some other stuff I've been excited to share for AGES, now. I hope you all are still enjoying? Anyway. Let's just.... have a little softness, where we can.

Arum is exhausted, embarrassingly so, by his abandoned bid for home. Amaryllis sits beside him, quiet and still for what feels like a long time. Eventually, though, she squeezes his hand (he _tries_ not to let his frill flare, but her worried eyes and the little twinge of pain let him know he has failed in the attempt) and sighs, and then she stands again.

"C'mon," she says softly, "You can't be comfortable down there. Let's get you up and we'll move to the table, at least."

"You don't plan on putting me back to bed?" he mutters reflexively, and she smirks as she slips an overly warm arm around him and helps him find his balance, his feet.

"Not just yet. I'm sure you wore yourself out with all that, and it's a shorter walk over there, where you can get your strength back somewhere soft with at least a slightly different view."

_ Get his strength back. _ Arum grits his teeth, tries not to stumble, and tries with much less success to feel like anything other than an abject _ failure. _ Cannot even cross a room by himself- cannot even clamber _upright_-

Amaryllis' hands are steady, though, and it's a short wobble over to the cushions beside her low table. Arum sighs deeply when he can resettle against softness again instead of with the wood of the door at his back.

"Better?" she asks, and Arum bites back a scowl at the softness in her tone.

"Obviously," he mutters, and then he swallows and looks away. "Th-thank you."

Amaryllis smiles, and then she goes and fetches a bowl that she fills from a larger bowl of salad on the counter. "Here," she says as she sets it decisively in front of him. "You need to eat. I'll be right back, okay?"

"It isn't as if I'll be _going_ anywhere," he rumbles, and she laughs, a bright sound she seems surprised that he's pulled from her. Arum tries not to feel surprised by it as well.

"I'll just be a minute," she says, the laugh still in her tone. "I just have to take care of the mess in the other room."

She disappears again, and Arum absolutely does not feel guilty for the mess mentioned. When he grabbed her, it wasn't as if he had been _ expecting _ her to be holding food. It is hardly his fault that she dropped the bowl.

… the marks on her wrists, however, are a different matter. He shifts uncomfortably where he sits, looking away from the door and feeling his throat rumble. Best not to think on it. He starts in on the second of the evening's attempted meals, letting the taste distract him.

"So," Amaryllis says when she returns a while later, and she settles to sit across the table from Arum as he gingerly sets his finished bowl down. "If we're going to start talking about things, I think we should just put everything on the table, right?"

There is a salve on her wrists, now. Arum can see the light shine of it, can smell the cool scent of aloe and other herbs besides. He looks away.

"You may say whatever you need, Amaryllis."

"That's not- not _ exactly _ what I meant, Arum. You're going to need to talk to me, too. Together, remember?"

He glances towards her, sees the earnest tilt of her smile, and then looks away again. "Whatever it takes to return home," he mutters.

"All I mean is," she says with a sigh, "I want you to talk to me, about ways I can help you feel more comfortable while you're still here, and I want you to talk to me about your ideas for the best way to get you home _ safely_. I don't think you'll be quite ready to travel for a little while yet, but D-" she stumbles, for a second, and then her smile flicks back, a little more wry. "But you're right. I haven't really been thinking that far ahead, and that's not the best way to handle this whole thing."

"Hm," he says. It is more of a concession than he had been expecting, really. She is remarkably stubborn, for a human.

"I'm not saying you've gotta worry about making decisions right _ now,_" she clarifies. "But- if there's anything you want that you haven't asked for because you didn't think I would listen, or if there's anything you've been holding back- I just want to help, Arum."

To _ help. _ As if he would believe that. She puts on a convincing display of caregiving, she must have a wealth of practice with the real feeling in her ordinary work, but Arum will not be so foolish as to trust that her kindness could extend to him, no matter how much of a curiosity he is to her. No matter how interested she has become, intellectually, in his recovery.

"And your little knight?" he asks, because he is the obvious lie in her assertions. "I do not think _ he _ could be convinced to _ help._"

Amaryllis sighs. "Probably not. But I think- I think maybe I can convince him not to _ hurt, _ at least. Not to interfere, if nothing else."

"Promising," Arum drawls, and she scowls without heat.

"Look, I know he's probably said some rotten stuff to you but I'm not going to let him hurt you."

"Do you intend to take up arms against the knight for my sake?" Arum sneers with an eyebrow raised. He _ knows _ that she won't. The idea is ridiculous.

"If I _ have _ to," she says, and then she grins wild when he gives her an incredulous look. "I know he won't take up arms against _ me, _ for Saints' sake. Even if he still wants to hurt you-"

Arum scoffs. "_If._"

"He won't hurt me. He would never. He'd _ hate _ himself if he gave me so much as a paper cut."

"And you hope to attempt to extend that feeling to myself as well?" He can't help the bark of laughter. "Foolishness, little doctor. He is a _ knight. _ He will slay me the moment your back is turned."

"He didn't slay you when he slept over after the surgery," she reminds him, leaning back and folding her arms over her chest. "Or that second time, either."

Arum scoffs again, but he does not know what to say to that. He is still unsure why the knight continues to neglect his duty. Amaryllis is willful, to be certain, and intimidating in a strange sort of way, but that cannot be enough to keep Sir Damien's arrows from him for long, can it?

"He's not the point, anyway," Amaryllis says, shaking her head. "I just want to make sure we're on the same page, now. You're from the Swamp of Titan's Blooms, you said, right?"

"I _ rule _ the Swamp of Titan's Blooms," he corrects with a snarl, but she only nods.

"When we get you back there, do we have to worry about whoever attacked you trying it again?"

Arum cannot hide his flinch. "N-no. I do not think so. I cannot be certain what state I will find my lands in if I return to them, but- this, these injuries, they were sustained outside the borders of my swamp."

"Huh," she says, and he narrows his eyes suspiciously until she continues. "That explains a bit, I guess."

"What?" he snaps. "What does it _ explain? _"

"Well, you're pretty far from home, aren't you? Makes sense that you didn't start in your own backyard."

"Yes, well." He grits his teeth, then sighs. "As I said, I do not think they would take any interest in my swamp." There is nothing else within the Keep that the Senate would understand enough to have any interest in, he is certain of that. "It is likely that they believe me dead, with good reason, and even without my physical presence my home is capable of at least some degree of self defense."

She looks surprised, perhaps a little impressed, and Arum pushes down an urge to preen. "That's a relief, I bet."

Arum watches her, watches her hesitant smile fade, and he knows how dangerous it would be, to let this little human infect him with her _ hope. _ He _ wants _ to see his Keep again, of _ course _ he does, the Keep is the whole of his purpose, but-

This war does not allow for anyone to truly get what they want. Arum does not think he is _ special, _ in that way.

He looks away from her, his mouth twisting in a bitter frown.

"I will not be relieved until I see it again for myself, Amaryllis."

* * *

Rilla doesn't bring him back out to the front room again the next day, but that's only because he's shaky and exhausted by all the movement the day previous. She can tell that he's sore, the slower way he moves his limbs, the way he winces. She doesn't _ think _ it'll put him back too much, but she doesn't want him to push himself again too soon and risk that she's wrong. He doesn't ask her to, either, but he doesn't ask for much of anything. He's not pulling away as much as he had been before, though, and she tries to be patient. It's not her strongest suit, but still.

She catches him poring over a ream of poetry in the afternoon, his eyes distant, a claw curled in front of his mouth, and he doesn't even notice that she's come into the room until she sets the tea on his bedside table. He startles and tosses the pages aside with his frill flaring again. And, like, she's engaged to a poet. Does he really think she's going to _ laugh _ at him? She doesn't bother to point it out, though, because she needs to take a scowling few minutes to clean his frill where it's torn, _ again. _ She stays with him for a while, then, drinking her own tea and taking inventory of her supplies and trying, gently and with little success, to draw him into at least a little bit of conversation.

She's gotta be patient, she reminds herself. It takes time to heal.

It takes time to trust, too.

* * *

She gets frustrated with her research the next day, contradicting reports that she has _ no _ way to personally verify without taking a trip to the Frosts herself (unlikely, even if she _ weren't _ preoccupied with one specific other project at the moment), and she has to take a breath or a break or she's going to _scream_, so she sets the books aside with a huff and pulls out her dad's old instrument instead.

She hasn't played it since she found Arum. She hasn't had the time, really, and she needs to tune it before she can let her fingers dance, the familiarity of the strings allowing her to play without much thought, much effort. She plucks out some fun chords first, just little nothing notes to warm up on, something bouncy to get her back in the spirit of the thing, and then she picks something familiar.

Not one of dad's songs, she's not into indulging sadness today, but something Tal and Marc's mom liked to sing along to when she was young. Something that used to make Tal smile and tap his feet.

She plays a few like that, singing gentle with her voice light and the lyrics feeling _ good, _ feeling like relief on her tongue. When she feels like she's gotten the irritation entirely out of her system she lets her voice fade on the end of one more song, the last chord hanging in the air, and she sighs thoughtfully before she sets the instrument aside.

Something rustles, off to her left, and when she glances towards the noise she sees-

Arum. Leaning heavily against the doorframe with a blanket draped around his shoulders, staring at her with something bright and strange and vulnerable in his eyes.

"Wha-" she stands. "Saints, Arum, you shouldn't be out of bed on your own. What do you think you're doing?"

"I heard…" he drifts off awkwardly as she comes closer, and he only winces a little as she slips an arm beneath his own, guiding him back into his room. "Wanted to see what that… that _ noise_…" he trails off again, and when she looks up at him, he's still staring, and Rilla feels her cheeks go a little hot at the intensity she sees there. "The both of you- the both of you are songbirds, then."

She laughs, and he startles a little, frill fluttering but not flaring as her body jolts so close to his own. "Well, I guess you could say that. Damien's more serious about his poetry than I am about my playing, though. Mostly I just sing for fun."

"For _ fun_," he says, and she expects it to be a sneer but really, he just sounds a little- awestruck, maybe? "You sing like _ that_. For _ fun_?"

"Well-" she pauses, blinking up at him. "Uh, yeah? It's- it can be relaxing, and it's nice to have something to do that I need my hands and mind to focus on together when I'm trying to take a real break from my work, and playing and singing at the same time is good for that. Here-"

She gently maneuvers him back down, so he's seated on the edge of the bed again, still with that blanket draped incongruously around his shoulders.

"You'd probably be pretty good at an instrument like that," she muses with a light smile. "It'd certainly be easier to hold certain chords with more fingers, and your fingerpicking would be pretty awesome with those claws."

He snorts a laugh. "I believe my talents lie elsewhere, Amaryllis."

"Oh hush, I'm sure you could learn. Most of it's just practice, anyway."

"You seem to practice a little bit of everything, don't you," he murmurs, not quite a question, claws clasping the edges of the blanket together at his throat.

"I like to know a lot about a lot," she says brightly, and then she tilts her head, drawing her eyes away from his neck. "Are you still that cold? I've had the fire stoked pretty high since-"

"No, I simply wanted-"

His answer comes quickly, but he cuts off halfway through, his eyes flicking aside and his expression closing in what looks like embarrassment.

"Wanted… what?"

He glances towards her, and his torso is long enough that even seated he barely needs to look up to meet her eye while she stands. He hesitates, clenching his jaw for a long moment before he opens his mouth again. "Something. Around my shoulders."

Rilla stares as he frowns and coils his tail behind him. Something around his… Rilla could smack herself.

"Oh," she says aloud. "Uh. Wait here just a- just a sec, okay?"

Arum raises an eyebrow, his snout ducked and his expression wary. "Where, precisely, do you expect I would _ go_?"

She ignores the question, already ducking out to the front room again, pulling open a drawer and digging until she finds what she's looking for.

The cloth is very, very soft beneath her hands.

"What is this abou-" Arum stiffens when she returns to his room, his eyes fixed on her hands. "What- where did you- _ what_-"

She walks to him, and holds out the cape.

He doesn't reach to take it right away, staring with his lips parted in clear disbelief.

"I'm sorry," Rilla says. "I should have given this back earlier, but- I kind of forgot about it with all the rest of- I just didn't think about it."

"My…" he lifts his hands, and she feels the brush of his scales against her fingers for only a moment before he pulls the cape towards himself, pressing it against his chest and drawing his fingers through the folds of the fabric. "Amaryllis, you…"

"It was… it was pretty shredded when I found you. Basically black with blood and mud- I didn't even know it was supposed to be purple until after I washed it and-"

He's still carding his fingers through, and his stunned expression falls even further open. "You- you _ mended _ it?"

"I'm not exactly a seamstress," she says, shrugging uncomfortably through the tightness in her throat. "I've stitched more people together than I have clothes, but the principle is-" she pauses to shrug, dismissive. "Early on, when a lot of this was just- waiting to see if you'd be better the next time you woke up, I needed something to… to do with my hands. Something that wouldn't wake you up like playing or singing might."

"So you mended my cape," he repeats, still looking at the cloth instead of her.

"Well," she says, looking away. "I did the best I could, at least. Like I said, it was in a pretty sorry state. Almost as bad as _ you _ were, honestly. I didn't have any fabric that matched to patch it with, so- really all I could do was pull together the uh… slashes. Sorry."

"What-" he blinks, looking up at her with his brow furrowed. "What are you _ apologizing _ for? You- you did not- you did not _ need _ to do this, Amaryllis, there was no- no reason to-"

"You barely had anything on you at all," she says quietly. "Just that and the satchels on your belt, and those were _ empty. _ I couldn't justify throwing out one of like, two whole things you had left."

"But you _ mended _ it-"

"I tried," she corrects. "I'm-"

He reaches out. Two hands are still clutching the cape to his chest, but two more reach out and grip her hands. It- Rilla doesn't think he's ever actually _ reached _ for her before, certainly not without her reaching _first,_ and he is staring at her with an intensity that stops her breath.

"_Thank you,_" he says, and even though his voice is half lost in a growl his eyes are shining with gratitude. "I … I do not- certainly I don't des- _thank_ you."

"Arum it's- it's not-" She pauses, inhales, and quirks her lip into an odd little smile as she squeezes his hands lightly. "I'm just… happy that I could do this for you."

He stares at her as if she's said something wild, something he can't quite understand. "Saving my life was not enough? You felt you needed to do _more,_ Amaryllis?"

"Well, that- I mean, it's my- my job to- to heal people-"

"But I am not huma-"

"_No,_" Rilla squeezes his hands again, probably a little too tight, her lip curling down and her voice going a little high because he needs to understand- "No, you're _not_ a human. But that doesn't mean you're not a _person._ I- it's just my job, making people well again if I can. It's- it's just what I _do._ This, though- the cape- it… I don't know. It's different. I'm glad I could do that for you."

Arum stares at her, his eyes flicking between her own in a shocked sort of way, and then he drops his gaze and her hands, a strange rattle rumbling his chest. He jerks his shoulders stiffly so the blanket falls from them, and he still keeps his eyes aimed carefully aside as he lifts the cape towards her again.

"Would you- it is still difficult to- to reach that way. I only managed the blanket because it was wrapped around me while I was still _horizontal,_ but- would- would you-"

Rilla blinks, the softness of the cape in her hands again, the softness of his words in her ears, and Arum's scaled hands brush her own again before he leans back away, flinching, apparently, at his own half-formed request.

"Y-yeah, of course, here-"

She reaches out and drapes the fabric around his shoulders, latches the clasp at his neck, and the ticking in his chest shifts to a strange sort of rumble as her hands brush the folds so they fall properly, and then she steps back to look at him, her stomach doing a strange turn as she quirks her lips into a smile.

"It's a good color on you," she says, and it- it really _is_. It makes his eyes look even bolder, even brighter, and it offsets the green of his scales beautifully.

"I should certainly hope so," he mutters, his hands clasping the edges of the cape rather securely, and then he looks up at her again for only a moment. "Thank you."

"Of course," she says, and then she bites her lip and takes a few steps away, towards the door. "I should- I should let you rest. I'll try not to wake you up next time I want to play-"

"You didn't wake me," he says quickly. "Don't- you need not-"

She stares as he stammers, and then he clutches the cape more tightly around himself, his shoulders hunching uncomfortably upwards.

"If you would like to sing, then sing," he murmurs, after a pause. "It does not distress me. It- it is rather too quiet here for my tastes, anyway."

"Oh," Rilla says, blinking. "Cool, alright." She tries a smile, and Arum glances up at her in time to see it. "Well, if you have any requests or anything, just let me know. Though- though I can't guarantee I'll know the same songs you do."

She expects him to give at least a little gust of his barking laughter at that, but he winces instead, ducking his head.

"Y-yes, of course not. That stands to reason. You would have no call to know the same songs a _monster_ would."

Something about his tone makes her chest tighten, and her hand squeezes the wood of the doorframe. "Hey," she says gently, and he glances towards her again. "Just- next time I'm playing, it won't hurt to ask, okay?"

He stares at her for a moment, his thin lips pressing tight, and then he nods.

* * *

She helps him in and out of his room intermittently over the next few days. He seems to enjoy draping himself over her cushions in her front room, and it's interesting to have him nearby while she picks back up a few low-intensity experiments. She makes sure he still has the basket of books nearby, but he's just as likely to perk up and watch her work as he is to ignore her to read. It's-

Rilla doesn't want to say it's _nice_, exactly. He's still frustratingly pessimistic, and if he starts paying attention to her as she works he often becomes frustrated himself with the pace she takes. If she'd been asked, before she met Arum, she would have said that _she_ was impatient. Arum? He's got her beat by a _mile_. Her experimentation is thorough, and he doesn't seem to understand why she can't just skip ahead.

He doesn't have suggestions for how to increase her pace, though. It's a little weird, actually. He keeps starting to say things, but then cutting himself off, frowning and furrowing his brow and half gesturing with a hand before he seems to give up, resettling against the cushions to watch her more attentively, or pulling up another book to pretend to read.

She's also caught him looking over her collections- her herb jars and tinctures, the shelf of souvenirs Damien has brought her from his more interesting quests, her shelves of notes, the plants she keeps indoors rather than out in the garden or in her small greenhouse-

"Are you- Amaryllis. Amaryllis, is that a sapling of _Jungle Flame_ in the corner of your _kitchen_?" Arum asks suddenly, leaning forward over her table, and Rilla blinks.

She glances towards the plant, raising an eyebrow. "Uh. Yeah?"

"Amaryllis," he says flatly. "Those shed _flaming leaves._ Your abode is primarily composed of _wood_."

Rilla blinks, and then she snorts a laugh. "Oh- _oh_, right. Saints, it's weird to have someone around besides Tal who has a _clue_ about botany. Don't worry about it, they don't start burning properly until maturity, and they can't do much besides smoke anyway if the proper elements aren't present in the soil. It's planted in my own mixture, it won't ignite unless I water it with a specific solution I have prepared."

He opens his mouth, eyes wide and incredulous, and then snaps it shut again. He blinks, gives the scrappy little sapling a contemplative look, and then he eyes Rilla warily.

"What?" she says. "Look, I won't say it didn't take a _lot_ of work to figure all that out, but it's been totally vital in my recipe for instant fire starter."

"Are all of your experiments so full of risk?" he mutters, and Rilla laughs.

"Not _all,_" she hedges with a shrug. "There's only so experimental you can get with bandages, after all, but-"

"Which elements need be removed from the soil?" he asks, tilting his head. "I have so far been unable to move my own sample of the species into the greenhouse- I could grow an island in the middle of the pond where it can burn by itself, but it makes the Keep _nervous_ and it is entirely-"

He cuts himself off, his eyes flicking to Rilla with no small degree of panic. She tries to keep her face neutral. Obviously she's _curious,_ but if he doesn't want to say anything she doesn't plan on pushing. After a moment, he swallows, and then continues in a lower voice.

"It- it is not worth the risk to the rest of my greenhouse, rather." He pauses again. "If that is the sort of information you would be likely to _share,_ of course."

The question is almost _shy._ Rilla is smiling, and she isn't quite sure when that started. "Yeah, sure, I don't mind," she says with a shrug. "Let me just go grab my notes."

* * *

The knock on the door comes slow and uncertain, and Rilla blinks up from the book she had been lost in for the better part of the last hour. She hears Arum shift in the other room, hears him hiss something low under his breath, and Rilla stares at her door for a long moment as she slowly rises to stand.

Her services aren't on offer, at the moment. It's not the first time she's taken a break from doctor work proper for the sake of a particularly volatile or labor-intensive experiment, and she's sure that word should have gotten around by now. Besides the fact that it's _late_, and even if-

The knock comes again, perhaps even more hesitant, and then a familiar voice, shifted small and uncertain.

"R-Rilla?"

"Damien-"

Rilla unlatches the door and pulls it open, light pooling around her to splash over Damien's exhausted face, his sagging posture, and his eyes brighten when he sees her, but they brighten beyond that with tears as well, and he looks so _tired_-

"Oh, Damien-"

She reaches out and he sags into her arms, folding against her as she pulls the both of them inside, locking the door again behind him.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt, or-"

"No," he sighs quickly, leaning into her with his eyes closed. "Simply- simply worn, my love. Simply tired."

"Completely fucking _drained,_ more like," she says with her brow furrowed, and he gives a single breath of laughter. "C'mon, then, let me help you out of that and into a _bed_ already. You- Saints, you can barely stand-"

"I am sorry, my Rilla," he mumbles as she leads him to the bedroom, as her quick hands start unlacing his layers.

"For what? For being tired?"

"Promised that I would not overexert myself, I- I think. I seem to have broken that particular… that particular promise."

"You're forgiven, then," she says quickly, casually, "just let me get you in bed _now_, okay?"

"Yes," he sighs, and leans even more heavily into her arms. "Yes, I think that would be best. How-" he pauses as she pushes him to sit on the bed, as she starts systematically pulling his armor off him. "How… how fares your- your charge?" he manages eventually. "How fares- Lord Arum?"

Rilla's eyes flick to his face, trying to gauge exactly what that question is trying to _get_ out of her, but his face is so tired that it gives her exactly as little clue as his quiet, toneless voice.

"Better by the day," she says. "Stubborn as hell. We can talk about him in the morning though, okay?"

"Of course." He closes his eyes, shifting so she can pull the last of the leather away from him. "Of course."

This isn't what Rilla had thought to worry about, when she had let herself worry about Damien out in the world with all this uncertainty kicking around inside of him. It's almost worse- Damien gone still and _quiet_ is unnatural. She pulls his muddy boots off, undoes the rest of his layers, strips down to sleeping clothes herself and dumps the resulting pile of leather and cloth unceremoniously onto the floor, a problem for the morning. Damien settles on the bed, his eyes just barely open, and Rilla slips beneath the sheets beside him, curling an arm around his back, pulling her fingers through his hair as he shifts closer and sighs into her embrace.

He _ is _ exhausted, but she can feel the tension in him, too. The way the thoughts are tumbling in his head, the spiral he's pulling himself into. She keeps stroking his curls, a steady sort of rhythm, and when he still feels full of tension a minute or so later she leans close enough to press a kiss to his temple, just soft.

"Do you want to tell me the story?" Rilla whispers. "Or is this one of the ones that doesn't get told?"

He sighs again, pressing his forehead against her shoulder and squeezing her closer for a moment before he pulls back enough that she can see the subtle, hesitant curve of a smile trying to keep hold. Then he presses his eyes closed and inhales deeply, and the smile fades, his expression gone yearning and sad.

"Long ago… a boy was raised by a family of boatsmen, in a lakeside village where all others feared the water." He inhales, exhales. "Someday, this boy would be called _ evil. _ Someday, this boy would be called _ witch. _ Whether this be truth, whether this be falsehood, there was a time when he was only a boy. There was a time, my love, when he was only a child, hopeful as all children, and bright with just as much potential."

Rilla holds him in the dark, stroking his hair as he pauses to press his lips together tight, and his voice is familiar, enthralling, lilting gentle, as he gives her the rest of the tale.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sir Damien is home again. He and Rilla's newer guest must learn to share the space, for however brief a time this arrangement will last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love you!! Happy LKT! Don't actually think there's anything new to warn for?? Fun fact! the next chapter is also basically entirely done. Just one or two brief scenes to add. Also. pay no attention to the fact that the theoretical total number of chapters keeps mysteriously increasing. I'm sure that's nothing. >.>;;;;

When Damien wakes, Rilla is already gone from the bed. He can hear cutlery clinking on dishware through the wall, can smell breakfast, alluring and warm, and he slowly stretches his sore muscles against the softness of these familiar sheets, and he-

He realizes, with a pang of strange guilt, that he had forgotten, for a moment, all he needs be afraid of. The worry creeps back slow, like a draft slipping through the cracks in old stone, cool on his spine, but there is something distant about the feeling. Rilla is… Rilla is still safe.

He feels lighter, as well, with the story of Ballast and its curse no longer pressing dark and confusing on him alone. It will not plague his love as it does Damien.

(The cadence of the story slips from him, just briefly. He does not mean for it to happen, but it cracks through, the tragedy, the cruelty-

"His _ voice, _ Rilla, they took from him his very _ voice," _ he keens, and she holds him tighter, holds him closer. "He called out and called out, sent words on quick wing from so close by and still they would not hear- they put his voice in a box and they hid it in the dark, they _ buried _ it, they left it for the _ moths, _ Rilla! All he had left were words and they refused, they _ refused- _ not even the howling of the hound they heeded, Rilla, and were my hand not stayed, were I not stopped, I would have- I would have been the punctuation on his silencing- I _ would have-" _

She holds him tighter. She holds him closer. She listens. His heart, oh, his twisting, uncertain heart-)

He rolls from the bed, still stiff, and runs through a quick light routine of stretches before he works up the nerve to see what awaits him outside the safety of Rilla's bedroom. He expects another argument, and- and his own mind is so unsettled that he is unsure he can hold his position steady. His beloved is too brilliant to contend with at less than his best.

When he gently pushes the door open, the monster is arranged on the cushions by Rilla's table, claws drumming on the wood as he raises an eyebrow, and Rilla is _ laughing. _ The bright familiarity of it jumps in Damien's stomach, but his eyes dart to the monster-

Lord Arum is leaning against the table, his body angled towards Rilla, something like a smile curving his mouth. There is some new cloth clasped around his shoulders, soft and shimmering and precisely as violet as his eyes. His eyes, which are fixed upon Rilla, and the look Damien can see in them is- is nearly the same as the look the monster wore while Damien had been reciting his poem to the creature. Attentive, rapt, patient- but less wary, even, than in that moment.

"Like you're one to talk," Rilla says, teasing, and the monster-

Snorts a laugh of his own, and the almost-smile blooms into a wide grin, and Damien takes a compulsive step forward.

Lord Arum turns his face towards him almost too quick for Damien to see the shift, his grin vanishing, his face going almost blank. Almost. The blankness does not quite manage to hide the flash of concern on the monster's face.

He-

His _ eyes_, violet and wary and piercing. A monster's eyes, and yet-

"Morning, Damien," Rilla says mildly, and Damien snaps back to himself.

"Rilla," he says, and his voice is a little rough at the edges, from sleep and exhaustion both, from the long tale told the night before. "I- I hope you-" he stammers, and he tries, he _ tries _ not to feel the monster watching them as Rilla steps close enough to touch his shoulder. He is unsure of his success. "I hope you slept well, despite my- despite-"

"I slept fine, Damien. Better than I've been doing, honestly. Sorry I didn't wake you earlier, but I thought you could use the rest."

"Y-yes. Yes, I believe you are correct. I- I am… I need not leave, today, so there is no hurry in my morning."

Arum is watching him, still. It prickles across Damien's skin.

He has not spoken, though.

Damien takes a breath, takes Rilla's hand, and turns his body towards the creature.

"Good morning to you, as well, Lord Arum," he says, his tone quiet and blank, and the monster blinks, his face going suspicious as Rilla's hand squeezes his own. "You-" Damien stops, wets his lips, observes the creature warily glaring up at him. "You look quite well."

"Do I?" Arum mutters, ducking his head. "How _ well _ may a monster look, little songbird?"

Damien pauses. "Certainly better than when last we met. It seems you are… recovering smoothly under the care of such a talented physician."

Arum's snout wrinkles, and he turns his face away, just slightly. "Hm. Yes, well." He mutters something too low to hear, and then he does not say anything else.

Rilla squeezes his hand again, and when he glances towards her she smiles, soft and warm. "Hey. Hungry?"

She puts together a plate for him, and Damien is ravenous, he has not eaten anything but rations for the road since last he was beneath Rilla's roof, but-

When she steps over to her table and settles to sit across from the monster, Damien can't- he cannot help but balk.

He cannot make himself sit beside a monster, not as Rilla can. With such ease, such lack of care.

"I think-" his words stumble, and Rilla must see the look in his eye, because her brow furrows, her lips turning downward in concern. "Perhaps I will- perhaps I will take- take my meal outside."

He has written countless poems on the mossy stump in front of Rilla's hut. The place feels safer, just in this moment, than the table beside the beast.

Rilla continues to stare at him, and he can see that her concern is struggling at the edge of frustration as she asks, "Outside, Damien? You… you don't want to-"

Lord Arum still is not looking at him, but Damien can see the twist of his mouth, the strange twinge of morbid satisfaction, as if this was precisely what Arum _ expected _ him to do.

"I- I believe I require a moment of fresh air," Sir Damien lies in a shaking voice, and then he retreats.

* * *

Damien does not remember, until the meal is halfway done, to be afraid that the monster might attack Rilla in his absence, and when the fear does come, he cannot seem to make it stay.

Something in the way Lord Arum looked at Rilla as she laughed, something in his eyes-

The worry feels false, now.

(_he__’s not gonna hurt me, _ Rilla says with a surety as sturdy as stone, and Damien thinks that she may have been correct, even then)

But Sir Damien still does not know if the monster has made Rilla an exception. Others may not be so lucky, when all is said and done.

* * *

While Lord Arum is resting in the exam room again in the afternoon, Rilla reaches across the table to take Damien's hand, startling him from his thoughts, soothing his surprise back with her thumb gentle on his wrist.

"Hey," she says softly. "If you're feeling up to it… I think we have a conversation we need to finish, Damien."

Damien feels his stomach fall, the sensation of missing a step. "R-right," he rasps. "Of course."

He should not feel this- this-

Damien should not-

"I want to apologize, first," Rilla says, and Damien startles, slightly, his hand fluttering in her grip as he looks up at her wry smile.

"Wh- you do?"

"I know this is… not easy. And I know that it's only gonna get harder, really."

Damien's heart and shoulders sink. "Ah."

"And the thing is," she leans back slightly, sighing. "You were right." She pauses, then quickly continues, "In one way, I mean. You were right that I was… I wasn't being- I wasn't planning ahead, because it was too hard to think about the consequences of this whole thing. And it came back to bite me in the ass, because of _ course _ it did."

Damien's eyes go a little wide. "It- what do you mean?"

"Arum saw it too. That I was…" she laughs. "That I didn't know what I was doing, not really. Not beyond like, the actual _ medical _ part."

The automatic instinct is to refute, to tell Rilla that she's _ brilliant, _ that of _ course _ she knows what she's doing-

She rubs at her wrists, not quite looking at him. "And, uh, there's another thing- but I really need you to listen right now and let me _ finish _ before you respond, okay?"

Damien opens his mouth, closes it, and then nods.

"So, while you were gone," she says, voice strained, "because- because Arum knew that I didn't have a plan, and because he thought- he thought that when you came back you would _ kill _ him, he- he tried to _ leave, _ and- well, I mean, _ technically _ speaking, he kinda grabbed me and tried to- to make it so I couldn't follow him-"

"_What? _ He did- the beast _ attacked _ you?!" Damien's hands _ fly _ to his bow, his muscles clenching.

"Damien-" she reaches out again, gripping his shoulders. "Look at me. Damien, I'm _ fine. _ Please don't freak out. He didn't hurt me, I'm _ fine, _ nothing happened. Everyone is safe, I _ promise. _ Just- just breathe, okay?"

It's like trying to see through a pinhole, the panic. He can hear her words, but his ears are still rushing, his throat too tight for breath. Every ounce of him is screaming _ danger, _ is howling _ protect- _

"Damien. I'm okay. We're _ okay, _ I promise. I- I'm telling you this even though I know it'll freak you out because- because it won't help anything to lie about it, but- but you need to actually listen to me, okay? I'm not hurt-"

"Your _ wrists,_" he manages in a strangled voice, reaching to hover his fingers just barely away from her skin. "I- I- I did not- the bruises- I should _ never _ have left you alone with that _ thing, _ I should have-"

"Damien, I did that to myself." She squeezes his shoulders, the pressure grounding, soothing. "C'mon, Damien, you have to breathe. I can't explain if you aren't _ listening._"

He sucks in a breath and holds it, trembling, and Rilla rhythmically rubs her hands up and down his biceps. She- her _ wrists, _ but- but she- she is _ here, _ and she is- she is not hurt, not truly. Is she? He rakes his eyes over her, lingering on the light red speckling at her wrists, catching her worried eyes only briefly, but otherwise she- she seems precisely as he left her. She appears- otherwise unharmed. Damien exhales, and his breathing is still _ fast, _ now, but he is forcing it under his control again, by degrees.

"I am… I am sorry, my flower," he murmurs. "C-continue. I will- I will listen."

Rilla smiles, just barely, worry still visible on her brow, and then she sighs. "He- he was only trying to go home, Damien. He was- he was _ scared, _ and he was desperate." She pauses. "Don't- don't tell him I said that, he'd be upset that I know he's scared."

Damien-

Knows exactly what she means, somehow. The creature seems to have a rather distinct sense of pride. He nods again.

"He just wants to go home," she says again, and there is a note of strange sorrow in her voice. "And I… Damien, I know it's _ crazy, _ but- but I have to help him."

Damien blinks. "You- what did you say?"

She sighs and bites her lip. "You were right. I can't keep him here, not any longer than I have to. It's- it's _ dangerous. _ For him, mostly, but- he can't stay, and he'll never make it home on his own, and I- I can't just push him out the door with a wave and a _ good luck, _ that's not- I can't-"

She presses her lips together hard, looking away. "Rilla-"

She rubs a hand over her mouth, and then she meets his eye again, determination in her gaze. "I've already decided, Damien. I told him I would get him home, and that's what I'm going to do. If- if that's too much for you to handle, I- I can understand that, but I'm not going to let you hurt him, and I'm not going to let you stop me, either."

"_Stop _ you?" he echoes faintly.

"I just kinda assumed," she says, smiling very weakly. "You've been pretty- pretty adamant about your position, Damien."

"I-"

Damien pauses.

He would have killed the creature in the depths of unconsciousness. Damien would have drawn and fired and stopped his heart cold. Would have never allowed the beast to wake again-

As he nearly did to the witch of Ballast.

Damien's heart pulls, as if it wishes to tear in half. His duty, his holy charge, his feet drawn forward into this endless battle-

And his love, and his rival, each by turns staying his hand.

Damien hesitates, and then he reaches, drawing his thumb careful along the soft redness circling Rilla's wrist.

"Precisely how did this happen, then?" he asks, voice low.

Rilla flinches. "He- he didn't hurt me, Damien. He could have, but he _ didn't. _ This- he just kinda- tied me to the stool?" she says, her voice going high and worried as she watches his face. "And I pulled my wrists breaking the bandages to get out. I could have done it more carefully and I wouldn't have been hurt at all but I was- I was worried that he would hurt himself trying to get home and I- I was too impatient to- to worry about myself. It's barely a burn, Damien, I swear-"

"I trust your medical expertise," Damien murmurs, and his brow softens as he lifts her hands to kiss the heel of one palm, and then the other. "I… my love, I- I may not- I still do not understand," he manages. "I do not understand what makes this creature different, what makes you- what makes you protect him. But-"

Rilla's hands flex in his own, but she does not pull away. "But?"

He inhales, exhales. "He is… he is your patient. You have claimed him as such, and so he must be. I must trust that you know best, how he should be cared for," he says in a near whisper. He swallows, then, feeling the terror of betrayal at the back of his throat. "If he threatens you- if the situation shifts- if you are in _ any _ danger, I will protect you. But I-" his heart stutters, he gasps a compulsive breath. "I will- I will not- I will not interfere, so long as you are _ certain _ that you are safe."

Rilla's expression falls open in shock, and then it goes pleased and warm. "Oh. Damien-"

"I only ask that you- you will allow me to- to keep an eye on the situation. To ease my worry, if nothing else. In case the worst should occur."

"Damien…" She stares at him. "Really? You're not- you really mean that? You're not going to-"

"I would not lie to you," he says gently.

"No," she says, "I know, but it's just- _ unexpected, _ I guess?"

"To be certain," he agrees in a murmur.

Rilla gives a breath of laughter, then squeezes his hands. "I- maybe I'm gonna regret asking this, but- what changed?"

Sir Damien does not know.

He pushes back his guilt. He pushes down his fear. He squeezes Rilla's hands, feeling her pulse, feeling that she is safe, alive, _ safe. _ If this be a trick, still- if the creature is merely acting as he knows he must to survive this, then-

Damien will still slay him, if necessary. But, for the moment-

The faster the creature is well again, the faster he will be gone from their lives, and the sooner Sir Damien can resume his life as it once was. The sooner he may again live with his beloved safe by his side, secure and familiar and _ right _ once more.

* * *

Damien comes and goes, as his duty calls him, but apparently the Queen isn't in dire need at the moment, because most nights he returns to the hut. Rilla can't decide if he's being more overprotective than he means to let on, or if he's just still trying to process what happened in Ballast, along with this whole Arum thing, but it really doesn't matter why. It's more important to her that he's _ here_, even if he's quieter about it, more contemplative. It's more important that he still comes to bed with her and holds her tight when he needs the comfort. And- when she does, honestly.

He still acts stiff and strange with Arum, his words uncharacteristically awkward, but he isn't on the attack anymore, not like he had been, and he hasn't snuck off to play guard dog overnight since he came back. He makes Arum _ nervous_, which is fair enough. He keeps his bow close by fairly often, and Rilla weighs Arum's discomfort versus Damien's and she can't make herself tell Damien to put the damn thing away. She has to trust that Damien won't use it, and she knows that it makes him feel safe. She just has to hope that Arum trusts _ her _ enough to know that she wouldn't allow it if she thought it was a risk.

Arum is different with Damien than he is with her, too. More antagonistic, but- in a sideways sort of way. He doesn't directly insult the knight, not usually, and instead he seems to get a kick out of irritating him in little, inconsequential ways. Seems to know exactly what buttons to push with Damien, too, to get him to grit his teeth and snap in return, and the monster tends to grin and chuckle like he's _ won _ every time he can make Damien irritable enough that Rilla feels like she needs to intercede.

But- the thing that Rilla is having trouble wrapping her head around is the parts that don't quite _ seem _ like simple antagonism. If that was all it was, she could _ get _ that. That would make sense, even if it was annoying. There's something else, though. Something that doesn't quite fit into the box of _ antagonism. _

"Hm. I suppose it is for the best that you have returned, little songbird," Arum murmurs, and Rilla hears Damien scoff through the door as she changes out of a sap-stained post-experiment outfit. The walls of her hut don't do much for noise cancellation, she thinks wryly.

"Is that _ so, _ beast?" Damien's answer is calm, if vaguely strained. "Why should you wish for my return?"

"I do not prefer to leave matters unsettled," Arum growls, low. "I believe there is unfinished business still between us… and I would think the stubborn little songbird would be eager to finish attempting to prove his point."

There is a pause, and then-

"The- the duel, of course," Damien says, awkwardly. Rilla tenses, because some arranged duel is _ news to her_, and not exactly _ good _ news, either. "Of course. Er- however, I do not believe you are yet in a state to fulfill your challenge, friend lizard."

"I- _ what_?" Another pause. "Oh. Y-yes. Of course. The- the _ duel, takatakataka._"

Even through the door, Rilla can hear the familiar uncomfortable rattle Arum gives. She can practically _ see _ his tail thrashing, his frill flaring, she knows that noise so well.

"… Lord Arum?"

Arum hisses low, not remotely an answer.

"What…" Damien pauses, for a long sort of moment. "What, precisely, did you mean, if not the duel?"

"Not a thing, honeysuckle," the monster mutters. "Of _ course _ I meant the duel. Don't be foolish."

Rilla shuffles on a new skirt, trying not to feel like an intruder in her own damn hut. It- it isn't her fault they're having this conversation so loud. If they didn't want her to hear-

"Oh. Oh," Damien says after another long moment, and then he coughs, lightly. "Ah. I suppose… I suppose that… that I never finished my poem, that evening, did I?"

"I do not remember," Arum mutters. "It does not matter. I had forgotten the whole thing by the next morning."

Another ticking, growling rattle. Another low snarl. Rilla hesitates at her bedroom door, which- she's not _ spying. _ She's _ not, _ she just- doesn't want to interrupt them.

"Well… I suppose…" Damien trails off. "I suppose," Damien tries again, his quiet voice very carefully pitched to casual, "that the next time you wish to be bored to sleep, I will know which tale to begin with," Damien says, very quietly.

Arum chokes a laugh. "I- I believe- I-" Another pause. Saints, but Rilla could record entire research logs in the time these boys take to finish a sentence. "It was you who lulled yourself to slumber with your words, songbird," Arum says, his own voice gone low, and hesitant, and stilted. "Not I. If you should like to _ bore _ me, you would do better to return to your little threats, not your… your poetry. If you wish to finish your tale, it is not as if I could stop you."

Damien does not respond to that, and after a moment Rilla pushes the door open again. There's a half second during which she sees the pair of them staring at each other, Arum with his head ducked and his tail coiling, Damien with his cheeks gone dark, and then the both of them look her way instead.

Rilla-

Doesn't comment. Why would she? Awkward silences are better than fighting, anyway, even if the way Arum looks away from her makes her stomach twist oddly. Even if Damien doesn't stop pinching his face into a guilty frown on and off for the next few minutes.

Rilla can wrestle away a bit of awkward, though. Especially coming from Damien. She's gentle, and tactical, and with a few pointed questions she manages to start him off on that story about the Sphinxes again. She doesn't mind the repetition, today. It's a good story, and-

Well. Arum certainly hasn't heard it before.

* * *

"Amaryllis," the monster calls lightly, looking up from the book in his hands, and then he goes still.

Damien follows his gaze automatically, and he feels a familiar little pulse of fondness when he sees his Rilla, draped partway over the table, her head sunk to rest on her arms, her shoulders lifting and lowering lightly as she sleeps, her stack of books utterly forgotten and her recorder still clutched in hand.

Arum blinks, watching her for a moment with his head tilted just slightly to the side, and then he catches Damien watching him in return and he narrows his eyes, turning away. "Foolish creature. I am certain she has a bed in this little hut _ somewhere. _ Certainly she should find it before she decides to collapse," he mutters, his voice carefully low, and-

Damien feels a strange little pulse again, a soft sort of echo, at the way Lord Arum's eyes return to Rilla as he speaks, just briefly, as if the monster is checking to ensure his quiet words have not woken her.

Damien bites his lips, swallows uncomfortably. "I… I do not think you should speak so, Lord Arum," he says, tone light. "You have your own habit of inopportune sleep, if our previous evenings together are any indication."

The monster blinks, then snorts. "I see that I shall never live my _ sedation _ down with you, shall I, honeysuckle?"

"I am quite used to it, in truth," Damien murmurs. "She… this is not an unusual occurrence. Sleep finds her where it may, as she so often spends her nights busily avoiding it." He smiles, helpless, and reaches a hand to press the button to stop her recorder, and then he brushes some loose curls away from her brow. "Any rest she allows to catch hold is quite well deserved."

Damien realizes, after a moment, that the monster is staring at him. As soon as he realizes this, Arum looks away again, burying his snout back in his own book.

Damien realizes, after a moment, that he has taken his own turn, to stare.

"What do you intend," Damien blurts, "When you are home again?"

Arum blinks, looking up at the knight with no small degree of alarm, and then he narrows his eyes. "_When_?"

That- is not the part of the question that Damien had thought the creature would take umbrage with. "Ah-"

"I do not believe for a _ moment _ that you have decided to allow the doctor to return me where I belong," he mutters. "You must think me _ completely _ naive, or entirely brainless."

It _is_ unbelievable, Damien thinks, _ and yet._ Damien has decided precisely that, _somehow_. It is unsurprising that the monster disbelieves. He purses his lips for a moment, considers how to proceed.

"I may change my mind on the matter," he says mildly, "depending on how this conversation progresses."

Arum narrows his eyes further, a ticking rattle growing in his chest. "And you do not think that in _ telling _ me such, you might color my responses, little knight? You are not a particularly skilled interrogator, are you?"

"This… this is not an interrogation," Damien admits, after a moment. "Rilla believes you only wish to return home. However… she has not elaborated upon what happens after that comes to pass. What will you do, when you are returned to where you belong?"

Arum scoffs. "Ridiculous. _ If _ I ever see my home again, I will put to rights whatever has gone unruly in my absence, and then I will never again be bothered by your kind or my own, if I have _ my _ way. I will be _ alone, _ as I _ should _ be, so I may nurse my own wounds." He pauses. "And my _ ego, _ while I am at it."

Damien furrows his brow, watching the way Arum's shoulders hunch, the way his expression goes angry to hide the flash of sorrow Damien thinks he sees, for only a brief moment. "And what of humankind?"

"What _ of _ it?" Arum snarls, and then he glances to Rilla and swallows, though she does not stir at his voice. "What of it?" He repeats more quietly. "I do not care what the lot of you foul creatures do, so long as you do not intrude upon my territory. Perhaps I will close the borders _ entirely. _ Perhaps that will be safest, in fact." He wrinkles his snout, glaring down at his clenched fists. "Yes. Safest for both of us," he mutters, more to himself than to Damien. "If I ever make it home… yes, whatever it takes, for our safety. I must protect myself, must protect my K-"

He chokes, words cutting off ragged at the end into his low growl, his eyes darting to Damien and then away as his frill flares like a flag in a high wind.

Damien feels himself staring, again. He cannot help it.

That keening note in Arum's voice, that hot protective current beneath the words-

It rings in Damien's mind like the echo of bells, as familiar as home. Damien _ knows _ the feeling this creature is trying, so clumsily, to hide.

Rilla shifts against the table and Arum startles, his claws clenching the near-forgotten book in his hand before he lifts it again, narrowing his eyes over the pages at Sir Damien.

"I hope my answers have been _ enlightening _ enough for you, honeysuckle," he mutters quickly, and then he hides himself again in the pages.

Rilla yawns, and stretches, and falls partly against Damien's shoulder as she mutters herself awake, and she is warm and utterly safe by his side. Mere feet from a monster, and Damien cannot even force himself to worry for her safety. No, he is not worried, not for his beloved, not at Arum's hands, but-

Arum's answers were _ more _ than enlightening, Damien thinks. That is… that is entirely the problem. They were enlightening, because Sir Damien cannot help but feel that every one of them was true.

Lord Arum aches for home, and Sir Damien's twisting, stuttering, traitorous heart aches in foolish sympathy.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is just the three of them, for a while. Until that begins to feel almost normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psst. Happy Lizard Kissin' Tuesday! I am tired and have ceased to be creative.
> 
> Chapter specific warnings for... hm. Some fraught arguments, I'll say. Not much more than that, this time.

Damien prefers to stay in the room, if Rilla and Arum are sharing space. Paranoid, Rilla thinks, but she can usually keep the frustration of it from biting at her. He's mostly harmless, anyway, and if she can get him talking enough to where he seems to forget Arum is there, it's almost pleasant. Arum pretends not to care one way or the other, but Rilla knows his body language well enough to tell when he's either nervous about Damien's scrutiny, or alternatively when he's just as drawn in to Damien's stories as she is.

"Amaryllis… explain the _ muttering _ to me," he asks, some afternoon when Damien has left to report back to the Citadel.

"The muttering?"

"_Incessantly,_" Arum growls. "The _ muttering _ of your little knight. He is a _ poet, _ that much I understand, and the constant spinning of tales is not _ entirely _ disagreeable, but even leaving that aside, must he be always chanting to himself?"

"Yeah," Rilla says. "He actually does kind of _must._"

Arum frowns. "What do you mean?"

"It's important to him. Praying to Saint Damien."

"_Saint_," Arum hisses darkly, rolling his eyes.

"It helps him think, helps him keep himself calm."

"Tranquility," Arum mutters, his frown deepening. "Hm. That does not _ bother _ you, then? His chattering?"

"It's important to him," Rilla repeats. "Saints know I have my own irritating habits, anyway." She pauses as Arum scoffs, and then she shrugs. "I mean, I'd be lying if I said I _ never _ got annoyed with him, but I love him. Talking to himself- talking to his Saint doesn't hurt anything. If it makes him happy, I wanna do my best to support that."

"How magnanimous of you," Arum drawls, his teeth bared in a vaguely malicious smirk.

Rilla frowns. "Don't."

He blinks. "Don't- what?"

"I _ know _ that look," she says. "I know you like pushing his buttons, and I know he's cute when he's flustered, but this- it wouldn't be the same, Arum."

"I- _ cute_? I don't have the first idea what you are talking about, _takatakataka._"

"It's fine if you tease him," Rilla continues, "but I'd really appreciate it if you made an effort not to make fun of him for _ that." _

Arum opens his mouth, then snaps it shut, and then he flinches and looks away from her for a long rattling moment. "I… I do not intend to do the knight any _ favors, _ Amaryllis, but I am perfectly capable of verbal sparring without taking a _ cheap shot,_" he mutters, and she buries a smile because of _ course _ he wouldn't agree because she _ asked, _ but if it's about his own pride-

"Thank you," she says anyway, and then she changes the subject before his growling gets too out of hand.

* * *

Rilla leans in the doorway of her hut in the morning, coffee steaming in her hand, slowly rounding out to _ awake _ as she watches Damien go through his routine with a lazy sort of hunger curling in her stomach.

She hears Arum behind her, limping slowly from his room on the crutch, and she tries not to feel irritated that he's pushing himself instead of asking for help. He _ is _ getting stronger, she reminds herself, and she buries the little flash of nerves that comes with the thought.

"Morning, Arum," she murmurs over her shoulder, and instead of going towards the table she hears him pause, and then approach, the crutch thumping rhythmically against the wood of her floor.

"What are you _ doing, _ little doctor? Why have a door at all if you intend to leave it hanging in the… wind…"

She doesn't turn towards him, tilting her head to better watch the way Damien is stretching instead. "Morning routine," she mumbles, her voice catching on a yawn at the end. "His, and _ mine _ too."

"A-ah," Arum says, and she hears him whir out a strange sort of exhale. "_Routine?_" he echoes. "He does this… _ regularly, _ then?"

"Almost every morning." She takes a slow sip of coffee, and then tilts her head the other way, watching the light gleam off of Damien's skin as he rolls his shoulders before he moves into his next set of forms. "Mm."

"And the- his- _ clothing-_"

Rilla hums again, sighing a light laugh. "No point in getting his shirt all sweaty if he can avoid it," she says, making no effort to disguise the pleasure in her voice. "You won't hear any complaints from me," she murmurs, and then she takes another sip. "Anyway. You sleep alright, Arum?"

He doesn't answer for a moment, and Rilla glances over her shoulder. Arum's head is tilted as hers had been, his lips are just barely parted, his tongue is flicking lightly, and his eyes are very obviously fixed on Damien.

Huh.

"Enjoying the view?"

"Hmm…" Arum trails off, then he blinks quickly as he seems to realize what she actually _ said. _ He flinches, the crutch skidding a step against the wood, and Rilla reaches automatically to stabilize him as he hisses in alarm. "Ah-"

"Whoa, easy- I've got you-"

He shakes his head, readjusting and then taking a large and _ decisive _ step back from her, back from the door.

"I-" his frill flutters, but he clenches his teeth and it settles before it can flare entirely. "Certainly you will forgive me for being _ distracted _ by the sight of the outdoors, Amaryllis. I have been cooped up in this hut for- for entirely too long. I am unused to _ prolonged captivity, _ I am sure you understand," he hisses, looking very deliberately away from both herself and the door, and then he hobbles over to sit at the table, growling low as he goes.

Rilla watches him go, too stunned to really respond to that. After a moment, the monster still refusing to look her way, she bites her tongue, and then she closes the door.

* * *

When Rilla comes into his room Arum is sitting on the edge of his cot, shoulders stiff, and he has her recorder in his claws. He stares up at her, eyes narrowed to vivid violet slits, hard and flat and angry, and Rilla feels a little pang of confused dread drop through her.

“Arum?” she says, and the monster’s lip curls into a sneer as he presses the button down on the device.

“Subject is severely injured,” says Rilla-in-the-past, her voice crackling through the recording and noticeably detached. “Wounds consistent with… attack by another monster. Likely, multiple.” The version of herself on the recording sighs. “Injuries will likely prove fatal. I’ve done what I can to stabilize the subject, but it hasn't regained consciousness, and it's unlikely that it will. Honestly, I would be surprised if it survives the night. Which is _unfortunate_, since this seems like it might actually be some sort of new and undocumented ashdragon variant, or possibly something even less documented than _that,_ which would make it _utterly_ unique. I guess I’ll see if it regenerates when this particular body dies, and then I’ll have that answer, at least.” Another sigh, some shifting noises. Rilla imagines herself moving some papers aside, possibly a bestiary being closed. “Well, either way I’ll get some interesting data out of it. Even if it doesn’t regenerate when it dies, I’m sure I’ll be able to learn something useful in dissection.”

Arum stops the playback. He drums his claws off of the recorder in a rapid-fire staccato, still staring up at her in silence.

“Arum,” she tries again after a moment.

“I hope, human, that I have provided enough _useful data_ in my convalescence that I have made up for the inconvenience of not dying and presenting you the option of weighing my internal organs.”

“That's not-”

“I _knew_ it was all a lie, I _knew_ there was no possibility that your precious little _I am a doctor_ nonsense was _genuine_.”

“It _was_, Arum, I didn’t _lie_-”

“You kept me alive to gather _data_. You’ve been spoon-feeding me so as to get a better picture of how your _knights_ might take me and my kin to pieces. None of this was because you-” he cuts off. “How long were you planning to maintain this little play-act? How long until your pet knight was meant to slit my throat? Did you simply want to get in sight of my _nest_ before you destroyed me? How much _data_ were you going to gather before you decided you had properly _wrung me dry_, Amaryllis?”

“That wasn’t what I-”

“Don’t _lie_ to me, human! I have had _enough_ of this farce.”

Rilla presses her lips together, her throat feeling tight. He’s not going to listen, right now. Not to her, not to-

He won’t listen to her _ now_. But…

“Skip ahead on the recorder,” she says.

“_What_?”

“Skip to entry four two one one. Should be… eighteen to twenty after the one you just played, I think.”

“Why?” he snarls, ducking his head and clutching the recorder close against the bandages on his midsection.

“Because there’s something else you should hear, too. You heard what I said when I first found you. You should hear what I said after. If you _really_ think that I’ve been using you for some sort of spy work, then the rest of it should interest you too, right?”

He hesitates, his expression tightening. “Perhaps I have no _ interest _ in hearing myself cataloged, _ doctor_.”

“Please. Just- listen to it. And then you can decide if you want to- I don’t know. How you want to proceed. But before you make any sort of decision, please- please just listen, Arum.”

Arum stares at her for another long moment, suspicious with a growl in his throat, and then he moves his thumb, sending the recording forward with a thin squeal of sound. He overshoots the start of the entry a little, and it cuts in just in the middle of a word.

“-ter than that, and it seems like his frill is really starting to knit together properly. _Finally_. It’s been tricky since it’s only a half-conscious thing, the flaring, but- I mean, it’s hard to complain about. It’s always so funny when he gets indignant and it just- fwoops out like that and-”

She laughs on the recording, breathless, and Rilla remembers this moment with exact clarity. The door to his room had been cracked, she could just see half his face through the gap as he rested, the gentle light of early morning on his scales and his expression untroubled in sleep-

“He’s beautiful,” she says, and she still feels the little stunned swoop that realization had made her feel. “He’s… I didn’t know a monster could be so _beautiful_. I didn’t know they could be _funny_ either, honestly, or- or-”

There is a pause.

“Saints…”

Another pause. Quite long.

“He… um. He’s improving by leaps and bounds, now,” she says, her voice a little clipped, a little muted. “He can almost stand on his own, though it tires him out. He’s… soon he’ll be well enough to travel, I think. Which means we’re going to have to have another conversation, soon, about- about exactly how we're gonna get him back home. And that shouldn’t… it shouldn’t hurt to think about that, should it? It’s _good._ It’s a good thing that he’s… soon he’ll be well enough to go home, to be _free_ again, to go back where he belongs and rest and recover where he’ll be comfortable and safe, but-”

A little half-laugh.

“I’m gonna miss him, is the only thing. I’ve gotten so used to having him around, and- and even if he’s always arguing about the methodology he’s been so- it’s been _nice_ to have him around when I’m doing my experiments, I mean- it would have taken me _ages_ to think of modifying my bandages with machracnid silk, and the improvement to the elasticity is- but that isn’t even the point, you know? He’s just- he’s-”

Less of a laugh.

“It's almost time for him to go home. It’s the only way to keep him safe. The longer he stays here- I know Damien won't hurt him, not anymore. I think he’s seen it too, he’s seen how- how much- he’s _seen_ Arum, really seen him. I know he has. But every day Arum stays here is another risk, is another chance that he’ll be seen or- and if that happens, then what? I don’t care what they do to me, I’m not afraid of them, but Arum- he’s still not strong enough to defend himself, and even if he was, what would he do against an armed squadron of knights? I wouldn’t be able to do _anything_ to protect him, and- he- I _can__’t_ let that happen. I _won__’t_. I won’t let the Citadel hurt him. So- so… so he has to go home. It doesn’t matter that I- it doesn’t matter how I feel. I have to get him home. He deserves- he-”

“Amaryllis?”

Arum’s voice, distant and a little distorted on the recorder, and Rilla-in-the-past gasps lightly. Rilla remembers pressing a hand to her mouth. Remembers plastering on a smile.

“I’m here, Arum. Just a second.” A rustle, and then, quieter, “I’m gonna make him well again. And then I’m gonna get him home. I’ll miss him… I’ll miss him _so_ badly. But I’ll get him home. End of log.”

Arum stares at the device in his hand, his frill flaring around his head in a way that Rilla would otherwise think is appropriately comical. Now, it just makes her want to do something foolish.

The next entry starts a little too loud and they both jump, Arum pressing his thumb decisively down on the button to stop the playback. When he finally looks up at her again, his eyes are still guarded, but no longer furious.

“What… what was the point of _that_, then?” he asks, voice thick and low.

“To show you how I think about you now. That first day- I didn’t know you, Arum. And that’s not an excuse. Monsters aren’t- you aren’t what I thought you were, and I had no idea- I was cruel. I was callous and clinical in a way that I _hate_, and I’m sorry you had to hear that. But I was never, _never_ doing any of this to get information on monsters for the _knights_. Never. And I would do _anything_ to keep them from hurting you now.”

“You… _why_?”

“I care about you.”

“You do _not_. I heard- what you said, you wouldn’t simply _turn_-”

“I don’t agree with how I dealt with the situation, Arum. I- I don’t see you in the same way. Not anymore, and- honestly? I stopped seeing you that way the first time you woke up and I saw- I saw that look in your eyes. And then it got more and more obvious the longer I was around you, the more I talked to you. You… Arum, the luckiest moment of my entire life was when I happened to look at the lake at just the right time to see you. If I hadn’t- if-” she has to stop, to press a hand to her mouth. “I hate the thought that if I just hadn’t looked, you would have died out there. Died _alone_, in that much pain, out in the wilds. That- Arum, you’re- you_ deserve_\- you’re special to me, and I had no _idea_ how special you would be when I first found you.”

“So why keep those notes, then?” he asks after a pause, his tone carefully blank.

“Because,” she says, frowning. “Because of _this_. Not you finding them, I mean, but because you don’t learn from mistakes if you try to bury them. I’m not going to try to make something go away because it’s _inconvenient_. I was horrible, the way I talked about you, the way I thought about you, about _all_ monsters. There’s- there so much _more_ out there than I ever knew, and I can’t believe I let myself be so ignorant of it for so long.” She shakes her head, then after a half second of hesitation she steps towards him. She reaches a hand out and- he misinterprets, lifting out the recorder for her to take. She moves her hand aside, instead, slipping her palm along the back of his hand and wrapping her fingers around his wrist. He inhales, sharp, his eyes widening as he looks up at her. “I’m sorry, Arum. Sorry that I talked about you like that, and sorry that you had to hear it after I- after I finally convinced you to trust me, even a little. I’m sorry, and I hope I haven’t- I hope I haven’t broken anything that can’t still be fixed.”

“Amaryllis,” he says, and then he drops his eyes. He does not move his hand, his grip on the recorder flexing awkwardly. “You- you’ve broken nothing, Amaryllis. We- you-”

His voice scatters off, unsure and lost, and after a moment he raises two more hands, one to grip the hem of his cape, and the other reaching by slow inches to brush his palm down her forearm until he can loosely wrap his fingers around her wrist, an echo of the way she is holding him. Her skin _ tingles _ at the touch, the gentleness and the cool strange texture both.

“You’ve broken nothing,” he repeats in a low murmur, and then he finally looks up at her again, that gentle violet pinning her in place. “You… you are meant for mending, Amaryllis.”

Her dark cheeks darken further, her lips parting in wordless surprise, and their arms are still clasped as they stare- they are simply _ staring _ at each other, now, and-

“Your…” Arum swallows, his thumb on her wrist moving just barely, just gently, tickling the skin at the heel of her palm. “Your heart is beating quite quickly, Amaryllis.”

“You know what a- a quick pulse feels like, in a human?” She asks, raising an eyebrow despite the slight breathlessness in her tone.

“I know what _your_ pulse sounds like. I know when it is…” he trails off, possibly at the way she blinks, startled.

“You can- _hear_ my heart?” She gives the smallest breath of laughter. “Your hearing is _ridiculous_, huh?”

“Vastly superior to you mammals, anyway,” he mutters, and he barely makes an effort to act as if he means it.

“Your heart is beating pretty fast too, you know,” She says quietly, and his hand flexes against her skin.

“Y-yes, well,” he glances aside, then he sits up a little straighter without pulling away before he meets her eye again. “I apologize, also. For- for ambushing you with this.”

“You don’t have to,” Rilla shakes her head. “I know that what I said was-”

“I have been searching for things to distrust. Digging for proof of deception, for anything that would indicate that your intentions were false, so that I could have some fuel for my anger. I _wanted_ to be angry with you. It is not… _easy_ for me, to accept help, or to- to indulge in hope.” His mouth presses into an uncomfortable line, his frill pressing tight against his neck. “Always you are harping on evidence and proof, and I know- I have seen-” he exhales sharply, not quite a sigh. “I know that you are… genuine, in… _caring_ for me. I do not understand it, but I _know_. And if- if you- if you are willing to show me such so readily, I should be able to…”

“Arum, it’s okay. You don’t have to say anything,” Rilla says, and he shakes his head.

“If I ever-" he pauses. "When. _When_ I return home, at last, I will… I will miss you as well, Amaryllis.”

Their eyes are fixed, each with a hand still gently clasped around the other’s wrist, and Rilla finds that she doesn't quite know how to breathe, with him looking at her like that. Not a great response, Rilla, keep it together-

“In fact,” Arum says very quietly, and his thumb brushes against her skin again and she shivers with gooseflesh instantly. “In fact, Amaryllis, I would say-”

“Rilla?”

Rilla only glances over her shoulder at the suddenness of Damien’s voice in the front room, but Arum pulls his hands away as if _ burned_, his expression going shuttered and distant again. She can’t help the sting of frustration, at that. It’s not fair, of course. Damien is still… well, it’s difficult, anyway. But Rilla is stuck with her mind five seconds ago when Arum’s thumb was gentle on her wrist and he had started to say _ something_. Something Rilla gets the feeling she’s not going to get the chance to know, now, like it’s been chased away. She feels like a glass that got struck on the edge of a table, still ringing. She wants to know where that moment was supposed to _ go_, but now-

She sighs, smiling despite herself. “One sec, Damien,” she calls lightly. “Probably good that he reminded me,” she says, more casual than she feels as Arum looks up at her uncertainly. “I just got done making lunch. It should still be warm. Did you- do you want to join us? I promise I’ll make Damien behave, and if he doesn’t wanna he can just go eat on the stump outside again.”

She’s only half kidding, and the mild mischief in Arum’s eyes at that possibility manages to creep past his guarded veneer.

“I suppose that sounds… agreeable enough. I shall be interested to see if the little knight will stoop to share a table with a monster, today.”

“He’ll deal,” Rilla says. She takes the recorder back from him, and then lifts her hands out again. “Steady enough to stand, Arum?”

He frowns, but he looks aside and reaches an arm to allow her to help pull him up to standing. It’s still a little odd, looking up at him after spending so long with him in that bed, where _ he _ has to peer up at _ her_. He still leans on her, just a little, though. Just a very little. Just enough that he could deny it, if asked. His body beside her own is heavy, slightly cool, fascinatingly textured, as always. She does her best not to think about that.

Damien watches them exit Arum's room with guarded eyes, but he does not mention their proximity, nor does he comment on it when Rilla helps Arum settle himself on one of the cushions around the table. After a quiet moment, while Rilla takes her own seat between them, Damien takes the pitcher of water, and he fills three glasses.

* * *

"What…" Arum pushes a small stack of books aside in the evening, pulling one thin volume out from beneath the rest, and his eyes are narrowed and confused when Rilla glances his way. "What is _this_?"

Ah. Damn. Rilla absolutely hadn't meant to leave that out- she must have slipped it in with the wrong pile before she put her dads' books back under the floorboards. "Oh," she says, trying to sound casual. Damien is looking at the book too, now, which isn't exactly _ great. _ "Uh. I'm not sure. I haven't been able to translate it properly, so I only _ kind of _ have an idea what's in there."

Arum frowns, something that isn't quite suspicion crossing his face. "… is _ this _ why you asked me about monster languages, before?"

Rilla blinks. "What? No, I just wanted to make sure I wasn't gonna bring you a stack of books you couldn't even read."

Arum seems satisfied enough with that answer, but still he turns the slim book in his hands, eying the cover. "Hm. This is simply a coincidental curiosity, then?"

"It- I couldn't find you in _ my _ bestiaries, so I wound up pulling out… well-"

"You kept your fathers' books?" Damien asks softly, and she doesn't look at him, trying hard not to wince. "I thought their more…" he coughs, "questionable possessions were- were confiscated."

"Most of them were," Rilla says, her tone going bitter. "Not all. I kept what I could."

"You were looking for _ me?_" Arum says, an eyebrow raising.

"Well-" Rilla glances between the pair of them. "Yeah. I figured that if I could find out exactly what you _ were _ it would help me figure out how to treat you more effectively. No such luck, by the way."

Oddly, Arum smiles at that, something smug in the expression as he flips through the pages, his scales making a whispery noise against the paper. "It seems you managed my treatment quite skillfully, regardless, Amaryllis."

Damien narrows his eyes, as if he's trying to find a way to make that sentence fit as a dig instead of a compliment, and then he shakes his head and refocuses on Rilla.

"Why did you not tell me?"

"It- I mean, when we started seeing each other it wasn't like-" her eyes flick around the hut, noting uncomfortably the way that Arum is watching her too. "You're a _ knight, _ Damien, I didn't know when I met you that you wouldn't get me in worse trouble for-"

"Oh, my darling flower-"

"It wasn't like I _ lied, _ Damien, I just- I didn't know how to bring it up. I-" she pauses, and tries a vague sort of smile. "It just kind of got to the point where I hadn't talked about it for so long, you know? Got to a point where it seemed- like it'd been too long already, and I couldn't change my mind about it."

Damien sighs deeply, reaching a hand out to cup her cheek. "Oh, Rilla… I am sorry you felt that there was _ anything _ you could not share wi-"

"I could translate this for you," Arum interrupts, and the both of them turn towards him. He isn't looking at them in return, his eyes firmly on the book as his tail coils tightly around an ankle. "The dialect is somewhat more eastern than I am _ entirely _ used to, but the bones of the language seem familiar enough. I suppose you already inferred from the illustrations and the size that it is a rather limited botanical census."

"Yeah," Rilla says, her voice bright with surprise. "Yeah, that's exactly what I was hoping." She pauses. "You'd really be willing to do that?"

"It's a book of herbs, Amaryllis. You can hardly do any harm with it." He glances towards her, his eyes guarded, and then he looks to the book again. "Seems a small sort of service I can easily provide. It shall not even begin to edge the scales between us towards even, I should think," he mutters, and then before she can respond to that, he points to one of the entries in the middle. "We can start here. I do not suppose you are familiar with this herb at _ all. _ It grows in a rather small range, quite a ways to the East."

Rilla doesn't _ want _ to let him deflect from the fact that he apparently sees her treatment of him as _ transactional, _ but she doesn't want to have that sort of conversation with Damien a foot away, either. She's already had _ one _ awkward conversation in front of someone who probably didn't want to be there, tonight. "Yeah, that would be- _ incredible, _ actually. Just let me grab the notes I already made, and-" she stands, and she tries not to look too uncomfortable or too eager as she goes to pull up the false floorboard in her bedroom to fetch the right journal. "Okay," she says as she returns, shuffling through the pages, "so I managed to work out the numeral system, I think, if you want to just check my work there before we dig into the conte-"

"Knock _ knock._"

The voice comes simultaneous with an accompanying _ actual _ knock, on the doorframe and not the actual door from the sound of it, and Rilla flinches hard enough that she drops the book in her hand to _ thwump _ to the floor. Damien rolls from his seated position to snatch it before she can, his own expression openly concerned, and Arum's frill is pressed tightly to his neck as he eyes the door in alarm, his tail coiling and then curling even more tightly around his own ankle.

Rilla pats a hand in the air, a gesture for _ quiet, _ and no one moves for a long moment as she waits for whoever the hell to take the hint. It's _ late_, even on a day when she was _ open _ she'd be unlikely to come to the door at this hour.

"Knock, uh, knock?" the voice comes again. "C'mon, Rilla, your favorite guest is here! I know you're home, there's smoke coming from the chimney-"

"Marc. _ Shit,_" Rilla scrambles, reaching to help Arum pull himself to his feet as she calls, "we're _ closed, _ come back- come back later. Tomorrow! Come back tomorrow!"

"Marc," Damien mutters, clutching the book to his chest with a scowl.

"C'mon, Rilla. I know you've got a minute for your _best friend_," Marc calls through the door. "Can you open up?"

"Dammit," Rilla hisses, and Arum chokes down a very nervous sort of laugh as Rilla presses a hand against his shoulder, making sure he's standing stable. "Come back _tomorrow_, Marc, I really can't hang out with you right now! I'm- I'm right in the middle of-"

"I, uh, really, _ really _ can't, Rilla. Can you-" he pauses, and she can hear Dampierre's hooves shifting against the dirt. "Can you _ please _ open up? I… uh…"

Rilla stiffens, grits her teeth, and sighs. "You're… out of medicine."

There is a pause.

"I'm out of medicine," Marc confirms in a quick mutter. "But! But only just _ barely, _ Rilla, like, less than five minutes ago barely!"

"Marc!" Rilla complains, and then she stops herself to take a deep breath. She can handle this. She just- has to make up enough for the day, and then- then she can get him out of her hair for long enough to make a proper batch he can pick up tomorrow. She frowns at Arum, and then at Damien, and then she calls out, "Two minutes, Marc. Give me _ two minutes_, alright?"

Marc gives some sort of relieved confirmation, but Rilla isn't really paying attention anymore as she walks Arum partway across the room, and then she passes the monster into Damien's arms as the knight splutters, his cheeks going dark as Arum hisses in alarm.

"_Shush_," she says with a scowl. "Damien, just walk him to his bed. Please? He can't be in here, we can't risk him being seen and I just- have to get Marc _ out _ of here."

"But," Damien squeaks, "but _ Rilla, _ I-"

Damien doesn't _ strain _ under Arum's weight, he's perfectly capable of supporting the monster, but he leans away awkwardly, leaving Arum to grit his teeth and sway in a way that makes Rilla _ instantly _ nervous. Her scowl deepens and she steps closer again to push Arum more securely into Damien's grip as each of them makes another quiet, indignant noise. "Into Arum's room, Damien, _ now. _ If you drop him I will be _ furious _ with you. No time to argue. Just _ do _ it."

Damien swallows, then meets Arum's eyes for only a moment before his cheeks darken further and he looks sharply away. He nods, though, and shuffles Arum into his room, the both of them wincing through the movement as Rilla marches in the other direction to throw the front door open and glower up at Marc as he raises an eyebrow at her.

"Is there- uh. D'you have _ company _ over, Rilla? Because you could have just _ said- _"

"Marc? Please shut up," she says, already turning back and marching to start throwing together ingredients, her hands moving quickly over bottles and jars. "You _ know _ I'm busy, and if you and Tal want to stop by with _ no _ warning then you don't get to complain that I'm not ready to jump up and help!"

"Well I mean- it's just _ me, _ this time."

He sounds _ sheepish_, and Rilla glances over her shoulder in surprise. "Wh- huh. Where's Tal, then?"

"Doing something _ dumb _ somewhere _ dumber,_" Marc scowls.

"Marc." Rilla turns away again, snatching up ingredients as she goes. "Come on."

"He stayed behind to take a _ job, _ and- if he just _ stayed _ with me we wouldn't have gotten lost and we _ definitely _ would have gotten here a lot sooner!"

"Sure," she says. "_Whatever_." Rilla can't actually decide if it would have been better or worse if the pair of them had visited a week or so ago. Might have been awkward for the boys to come knocking when Arum was collapsed by her front door, at the very least. Her lip pulls into a frown and she refocuses, rattling off the list of components as she mixes them together, but when she reaches for the last of the bunch-

She pulls down an empty jar. And then a _ second _ empty jar.

"Oh, come _ on. _ Really?"

"Uh, what's up?"

"The Numb-Cap. I'm _ out,_" Rilla groans, dropping her head to _ thunk _ off of the cabinet in front of her. "I used all of it because I had to make up so many batches of painkiller for-"

She pauses.

"For?" Marc calls warily, and Rilla grits her teeth.

"Another _ patient, _ Marc, because you're not the only person _ relying _ on me!"

"Well, I mean, uh. If you made up so much of it-"

"I _ made _ so much because I _ needed _ it, Marc! And even if I _ hadn't _ used it up, it's not even the same recipe as your pills. Which means_\- _" she cuts off into an exasperated exhale, smacking her palms on the counter.

"Which means- what?"

"I need to go get more Numb-Cap. _ Now _. And leave-"

She cuts herself off again.

"Well- I mean, if you're too busy to leave I can run off and collect the dumb mushrooms myself, right? I'll just grab a few and come back and-"

"There is no _ way _ I would trust mushroom identification to _ any _ untrained non-mycologist _in the middle of the night_, let alone _ you, _ Marc," she growls, marching towards the door and grabbing her boots. "You wanna have actual effective medicine, or d'you wanna wake up in a week with no clothes and no idea where you've _ been? _ Or, _ more _ likely, just choke to death on some fun magic poison?"

"Well, that _ first _ one doesn't sound so bad-"

"Marc." Rilla grips the doorframe tight. "This is, and I need you to understand this, _ wildly _ inconvenient for me right now, but I'm going to go out into the jungle with you, collect some stupid mushrooms in the dark, and come back to make more medicine for you. But first you gotta just- chill out here for a minute while I t- while I grab my stuff. Okay?"

"Yeah," Marc says, sounding just barely chastised enough as Dampierre whickers and stamps beneath him. "Uh. Yeah, Rilla, okay."

She sighs, then presses the door firmly closed so she can gather herself for a moment before she darts to the exam room. Arum is sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the door as she enters, and Damien is carefully placed at the opposite end of the room leaning against a counter until he sees her enter, at which point he straightens up again.

"You're _ leaving? _" Arum asks before she can say a word, and Damien stumbles as he crosses the room.

"What?!"

"That is what she just told the _ loud _ one at the door," he growls, gesturing towards her with narrowed eyes.

"Rilla you can't possibly-"

"I really can possibly, Damien," she says, grabbing a pair of work gloves from the counter and then coming close enough to grab Damien's hands tight. "Marc _ needs _ that medicine and it won't work without the ingredient I'm missing. It'll probably only be a few hours, I know where they usually grow, but it's a bit of a walk."

"But Rilla, surely- if you are venturing into the jungle then I must accompany-"

"I'll be _ fine, _ Damien, Marc and I can handle anything that happens. And I-" she squeezes his hands, winces. "I need you here a lot more."

"Here? But-" he looks towards Arum, and then they both look away.

"You realize that I do not require moment-by-moment _ babysitting_, Amaryllis," Arum snarls.

"Precisely, and I-"

"Damien, I really don't want to have to deal with you and Marc fighting while I'm already stressed out about making sure he gets his next pill before his last one wears off," she admits in a rush, and Damien winces. "Please, please just stay here, don't fight for like, just a _ few _ hours, I promise, and- and everything will be fine. Just keep an eye on the stew and bring him a bowl when it's done, okay? That's your one job. Just that, and not fighting. And preferably not freaking out, either. Can you do that for me, Damien? Please?"

He wilts, just a little, his eyes going soft and his hands pulling her close enough that he can press a kiss to her temple. "Of course. Of course I can. Such small favors you ask of me, my love," he says, very lightly, and she laughs. "Of course. I should be used to the urgency with which your brilliance is needed, by now."

She breathes a laugh, then kisses his cheek before she pulls back from his hands, eying Arum (his own eyes carefully turned away from the both of them again). "You too, okay?"

"Me too, _ what, _ precisely?" he mutters. "I will not be going anywhere, and so long as the little songbird does not _ shoot _ me I cannot imagine I would have any way of coming to harm."

Damien scowls, but Rilla steps a bit closer to the monster, reaching out to tap the tip of his snout lightly, making him blink and hiss softly in response.

"A couple hours. Just be _ nice, _ for Saints' sake. Or-" she laughs. "For _ my _ sake, at least."

Arum frowns (or pouts, more accurately), but something about the way his lip twitches makes her think he's trying to clamp down on a smile, and that makes her feel a little better about this whole thing when she returns to the door.

"Don't have too much fun without me," she says, and as they both splutter she closes the door behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> psst. i love you


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damien and Arum, Arum and Damien, and Rilla- Rilla is having a difficult evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yesterday was the one year anniversary of the day I first started writing Penumbra fic. Oh, how time flies. Oof. Also. Hm. I've been mentally calling this the emotional whiplash chapter. Be gentle with yourself? Warnings for blood, violence, fighting, canon-typical deception, canon-typical monstrous horrors and canon-typical monster-horror deaths, including some upsetting imagery that I wrote at like two a m and then was a little perturbed by the next morning. Uh. I think that's everything? I swear this fic is soft sometimes.

Rilla still tastes sticky pink at the back of her sinuses, reeking strange but somehow vaguely sweet, and Tal's voice calls out through the jungle. Tal's voice is not the _only_ noise, though. There is crashing, tree limbs cracking, shouting and roaring and rattling that makes Rilla's stomach twist with familiarity she doesn't want to place.

She clings to Marc's shoulders as Dampierre runs them towards his brother's voice. She catalogs symptoms, catalogs coincidences in the back of her mind, and she hopes that the twinge of instinctive terror in her gut is _wrong._

* * *

Time sighs past them, tortuously slow, and Arum is beginning to suspect that the knight is _deliberately_ attempting to drive him out of his skull. Eventually Arum's thin patience snaps, and he sits up straight in the bed, tail thrashing as he scowls.

"Must you do that?"

Damien doesn't seem to hear him. He paces in a tight circle on the other side of the room, seemingly unaware of the book still clutched tightly in his hands, unaware that his knuckles are going pale with that tightness. "Saint Damien above, please," he murmurs to himself, for perhaps the eighteenth time, "oh I cannot lose her, I cannot- how can I remain here, still and unharmed while she flies towards danger with a smile, my Saint? How can I endure the torturous burden of safety while my beloved could be in any peril, any peril at all? Perils unknown! Perils _ unknowable, _ teeming in the dark of night, and with my forever-flower accompanied by so untrustworthy a companion-"

"Songbird, honestly, the _ squawking_-"

"The _Salamander,_ of _all_ companions, and I must remain behind, must either leave her unprotected- or _ precariously _ protected, at the very best, or else I shall break my word to her! To act otherwise would be to break not only the bond of my word, but to break her heart in the same moment-"

Arum barks a laugh. "Oh _ please_, honeysuckle. I do not think Amaryllis' heart is quite so fragile as that." He snorts. "Not quite so fragile as _ yours, _ that is, always aching and cracking within you."

Damien pauses his pacing, then shoots the monster a scathing look. "What business have _ you, _ beast, in discussing _ either _ of our hearts?"

"You certainly won't shut up about it in earshot," Arum growls. "_Forgive _ me for misconstruing a conversation out of your ceaseless heartsick blather."

"I would not expect a _ monster _ to understand the value of _ prayer, _ Lord Arum," Damien says through his teeth. "Nor the ache of love."

Arum opens his mouth, meaning give a biting retort, and then he remembers Amarayllis' eyes, and how soft they were when she asked-

He closes his mouth again, sighing, and Damien eyes him suspiciously for a few moments before he resumes his pacing, resumes his muttering.

The poet's heart speeds again as the minutes continue to pass, his breaths growing more shallow. Arum does not know what else he is meant to _ focus _ on, besides Sir Damien slowly twisting himself to pieces. His words are running so fast that they have begun to bleed together, almost too panicked for Arum to parse into individual thoughts, and when Damien chokes on a breath and his eyes go bright Arum cannot keep his mouth closed another moment longer.

"You are not _ helping_, Damien," he says, and the knight turns towards him, his lips curling in something that could have been a scowl, if he did not look so otherwise distressed. "If your prayer has value, so be it, but it does not _ appear _ that it is doing anything at _ this _ moment beside causing you to pull your own feathers out. Stop- stop _ thrashing about _ and find another thought to worry on. Threaten me again. _ That _ certainly seemed to amuse you, before."

Damien startles, oddly, somewhere in the middle of Arum's words, and then he goes still. "I…" he pauses, coughs. "I suppose… I suppose I have been- twisting and drowning in the mire of this misery for far too long," he mutters, pressing his hand over his mouth. "Tranquility is… so terribly far from me, this night," he says, even more quietly, more to himself than anything.

"Amaryllis is clever and ferocious. I very much doubt she would bolt off in foolishness at the risk of her own neck. Do you imagine that she would _ wish _ for you to drive the both of us to madness in your worry? If your words are not _ helping, _ find _ other _ words, or other _ action. _ Do something _ useful, _ honeysuckle. If you continue as you are, you will simply distress yourself further." He pauses. "And continue to give _ me _ a headache."

"Something _ useful,_" Damien echoes, his gaze distant. "What … I cannot _ compose _ in this state. I cannot- I do not know what to _ do. _ I am…"

Enough tension pulls at the poet's frame that he looks as if he may crack in two.

Arum sighs. "Here," he says quietly. "Give me that book, at least. Before you go ahead and snap its spine in your little talons."

Damien looks at his own hands, then, as if he had forgotten that they existed entirely, his grip on the book finally loosening. "Ah-"

"Amaryllis was going to share the notes with me anyway. I may as well begin work on my translation. Perhaps I can have a page or two to share with her when she returns."

"When she returns," Damien whispers. "When she returns. Yes. Of course, _ when _ she-" he shudders out a breath, and then he steps close enough to Arum to pass the journal to him.

The leather of the binding feels warm from Damien's hands, and Arum brushes his thumb over the label on the cover, written in Amaryllis' impatient but neat scrawl. "Excellent," he says, because he does not wish to say _ thank you. _ "Now, perhaps you should check the food, as she asked, honeysuckle. Perhaps it will be easier to calm yourself if you have a moment where you need not share the room with so foul a beast as I."

Damien opens his mouth, his cheeks darkening, and then he snaps his jaw shut again, looking away. "The food. Yes," he murmurs, and then the poet retreats.

When Damien leaves the room Arum leans back, sighing and allowing himself his own moment of worry.

A couple hours. Amaryllis is- Arum's words were in no way false, she _ is _ both clever and ferocious, and he does not _ know _ this other human she has gone into the wilds with, but he cannot imagine that she would trust her protection to someone unworthy of that honor. This is her home. Certainly she knows the territory that surrounds it. Certainly she will be in no danger at all.

Certainly.

He composes himself before Damien returns with their meal, and Damien is tense and stiff but he finishes his bowl without another muttering collapse, which Arum is learning is as close to a success as he is likely to manage. He resumes his translation, then, poring over the thin botanical tome and trying not to notice as Damien's heart gradually begins to race again.

The poet straightens, suddenly, standing from his lean against the counter, and then without a word he goes back out to the front room again, leaving Arum watching his back in alarm. When he returns he is clutching what appears to be- his bow, his armor, his quiver and packs and all manner of miscellany. Damien crouches to drop the lot of it on the floor, somewhat close to Arum's bed, and then he sinks to sit beside the pile, pulling his bow out first and examining it with keen, narrowed eyes.

"What are you up to now, honeysuckle?" Arum asks, lowering the books in his hands.

"Something useful, I hope," Damien warbles in response. "I have been meaning to restring my bow for weeks, now. I cannot do much else, at the moment, so I may as well perform the tasks I have been delaying in favor of more pressing matters, as I am being currently pressed to stillness instead."

Arum certainly cannot complain about that. Damien's expression has gone focused, poised, as he carefully and skillfully bends his bow into the proper position for him to remove the current (apparently unsatisfactory) string. Arum eyes the rest of the pile curiously, observing the well-battered armor, the quiver which looks both old and loved, patched with many careful mendings.

Arum narrows his eyes at the rest of Damien's packs as the knight carefully begins the process of restringing his bow, and a small plain leather sheath catches his attention. He reaches with his tail to pull it out from the rest, lifting it to take into his hands, setting Amaryllis' book and its translation aside on the sheets for a moment.

"Hrm…" Arum notes that this leather is vaguely tattered, but not mended with care as the quiver is. He slips the knife out, and Damien turns towards him and tenses at the edge of his vision but Arum is far too distracted to care because- "Honeysuckle, have you no respect at _ all _ for your weaponry? I understand that you _ favor _ your bow but-" he turns the blade in the light, noting the dullness of the edge, the light speckling of rust across the metal. "This is a _ travesty. _ It is dull as a branch and it looks as if it went _ swimming _ with you. You would be more likely to harm _ yourself _ with this mistreated thing than any enemy." He growls low, scraping his claw along the edge of the blade, bringing it closer to his snout to inspect more closely, clicking his tongue in disappointment. "Careless. _ Negligent. _ You _ must _ have a whetstone somewhere, oils and the like, honeysuckle. Bring them here this _ instant _ and I will give this little blade the care it has been denied."

Arum continues to turn the blade close in front of his eye, and it takes him a long moment to realize that Damien has not moved. Arum blinks, shaking his head, and then he looks over the metal and Damien meets his eye, his seated stance tense, his hands on his bow gone slack and his eyes bright with worry and with- something else Arum cannot interpret.

Arum frowns, unsure for a long moment _precisely_ what the _issue_ is, before he realizes-

A knife in his hands. An armed monster, and a knight with his bow unstrung.

Of course.

Arum looks away from Damien, his breath rattling in discomfort, and his hands flex against the hilt of the blade. He inhales around the strange weight in his chest, and then he hisses the breath back out through his teeth. "Don't be foolish, honeysuckle," he manages in a growl. "What could I do with this wretched knife that I could not do with my claws already? If I wanted to hurt you, there would be cleverer ways than _ this_. Bring me the tools. I do not care to watch you oil and polish and spoil your favored toy over there while this little edge remains in disrepair. Besides," he gives a short, stilted laugh, "a dull knife is far, far more dangerous than the alternative. I will protect you from your own _ negligence, _ have no fear."

Arum does not look back towards Damien, so he does not see whatever expression it is that the poet wears as he stares for another long moment. He manages not to look when he hears Damien rise to stand, as well, though when the knight leaves the room he cannot keep his shoulders from sagging.

Damien does not have the first clue what Arum is capable of, with any sort of blade. Damien does not have the first clue what Arum is capable of at _ all. _ But obviously, obviously the knight's instincts are sound. He is more correct than even _ he _ knows.

Damien returns, and without a word he hands Arum the requested tools, and then he goes to resume his own tasks.

Without a word, Arum turns the blade in his hands, and then he begins the slow, gentle work of restoring it to its proper sharpness, and shine.

* * *

The false Rattlepanther is a puddle of melted spores behind them, and Dampierre bursts out from a tangle of bramble and glossy leaves. Their entrance into the clearing scatters the thick pink mist enough that Rilla sees the source of the noises immediately, the shouting, the _ fighting- _

Damien and Arum, trying to kill each other in the mud, just beneath the enormous thumping threat of the Numb-Cap.

They're both bloody already. The bandages on Arum's midsection are soaked through with red beneath the dirty brown, his frill is worse off, even, than it had been when she found him in the first place, and Damien- Damien's arms are totally sliced up, obvious claw wounds, and there is a similar gash across one cheek, too, bleeding brightly over his chin and down his neck as they grapple with each other, their legs caught tight together in the sticky grip of a writhing pink slime mold beneath them.

"Damien! Damien _ stop_-"

They do not pull away from each other, but both of them glance towards her for a moment as she leaps down from the saddle, Arum with his teeth bared and bloody, Damien with his eyes flat and hard and blank.

"Of course," Damien says in a cold murmur. "Of _ course. _ I begin to doubt and- and you, my precious flower, you come like dawn to show me my true path. To remind me of my _ duty_. This creature has twisted your mind, has pulled your heart from me-"

Her heart plunges like a stone, actually, at the accusation. "Damien, that's not-"

"Has upset the order of our very lives. It is for you, my love, that I _ must _ kill this monster. I _ must _ slay this beast."

"If you even _ can, _ you boasting little fool-"

"Don't! Stop! Just- don't do _ anything, _ I'm coming over there and-"

"Rilla, wait-" Marc grabs her shoulder, and Rilla fights back an urge to _ smack _ him. "Remember how it was with Talfryn. They're knee-deep in _ slime, _ and for all we know they could be more of those spore illusion things, right?"

"I-" Rilla looks back towards them, and then she meets Marc's eyes. "I don't _ know. _ I don't know if- I don't know why they would-"

"If you go over there you're gonna get stuck in it too," he says, and Rilla grits her teeth together tight.

"If they're _real_ they're going to kill each other!"

Marc's brow furrows, but he shakes his head. "So what do we _ do, _ then? Maybe we can pull Damien out, but that monster's not gonna make it easy, and we gotta do that without getting sucked in in the meantime."

"I _ know, _ I know," Rilla chokes, her mind spinning in helpless circles as Damien and Arum fight. "I just- I'm _ thinking, _ I'll-"

"Do you think they're real?" Marc presses, squeezing her shoulder, and Rilla looks up at him for a moment before she looks back towards the grappling pair. "Talfryn- those things he said. All of that- it was on my mind today. Would Damien fighting a monster like this, would that have been on your mind today? Or- is there any chance Damien would even _ be _ out here?"

She and Marc have been turned around enough- Rilla doesn't even know how far they are from the hut, anymore. Could Damien and Arum actually be out here? Is that _ possible? _ Rilla doesn't have a _ clue. _ Possible or not, though-

Real or not. Rilla's heart is pounding and pounding and _ pounding. _ Louder than the Numb-Cap. Twice as fast, too. Damien and Arum trying to kill each other- would they? Would they _ really, _ or is Rilla just so scared, does the idea hurt her _ so much- _

Arum isn't evil. Arum wouldn't hurt her. She _ knows _ that. She's been hoping that Arum not hurting her would extend to Damien, too, but- but _ Damien _ still thinks-

Rilla can't even tell who's winning. Damien's bowstring is snapped, it looks like he's just trying to _ stab _ Arum with one of his arrows instead, and Arum is holding him back from completing the strike with two clawed hands digging into his wrists, his other hands swiping towards Damien's stomach.

"Stop!" Marc's hand on her shoulder is the _ only _ thing that keeps her from bolting towards him. "Saints- _ stop _ it! Stop fighting! You're going to _ kill _ each other-"

"I _ will _ slay this beast," Damien snarls, his muscles straining as he twists, barely avoiding the claws and barely having his own strike held off. "I _ must _ do my duty-"

"Get _ on _ with it, then, honeysuckle," Arum snarls, claws drawing blood at his wrists, and Damien cries out-

"Arum!"

"I _ told _ you, Amaryllis. I _ warned _ you that you would not be able to _ collar _ him-"

"Be _ silent, _ beast," Damien shouts, wrenching his arms back from Arum's resisting hands, "and _ die-_"

Damien's hands bring the arrow down, and Arum's hands swing his claws up-

And Rilla isn't even sure which terrifies her more.

Damien plunges the arrow into Arum's shoulder and he gives a pained, gasping snarl that stretches into almost a howl, and at the same moment Arum's claws find Damien's ribs, making him _ scream. _

Rilla could scream too. She can- she knows- the angle of the arrow, the depth of Arum's claws, she can still fix them, _ both _ of them, she can still make this okay if she can get them away from each other-

If they're real.

Arum digs his claws in, twisting his wrists. Damien shouts, and grits his teeth, and pushes the arrow _ deeper, _ and behind them, the Numb-Cap beats like a giant exposed heart.

Rilla takes a breath. She digs her hand into the satchels at her belt.

"Step back, Dampierre," she says, and as the horse moves she moves with him, until they are just barely far enough, and then she throws the explosive.

It catches quickly. The slime mold races with fire as if it is soaked with oil, and the fighting figures are caught within it, so-

They burn beneath the mushroom, screaming and writhing, and Arum does not pull his claws from Damien, and Damien does not release his grip on the arrow. Not even when the both of them melt and pop into a flurry of burning spores, as the Numb-Cap's horrible beating heart finally scorches out.

_ Death grip, _ Rilla thinks grimly, and then she leans heavy against Dampierre.

She guessed right. It _ wasn't _ them. She didn't kill them.

The light of the flames is still burnt into the back of her eyes, two twisting silhouettes, intertwined.

She guessed right.

That doesn't make her feel better. Not at all.

* * *

"There," Arum says softly, and Damien, who has long since finished with his bow and has now resorted to rearranging the entire contents of his traveling packs, looks up.

"There?"

"It has been treated as well as possible, with the tools provided. I hope it shall not be so neglected again."

He holds the knife out between them, then, hilt first, and Damien-

Damien stands, slowly, and steps close enough to reach out and take the blade back.

Arum drops his hand and his gaze once the knife is in Damien's hands. Damien lifts it closer, inspecting, and-

It is beautiful. Arum even polished the hilt, even cleaned the grit from the engravings. Damien can see the surprise in his own eyes reflected in the new shine of the metal, and he can tell when he tests it against his thumb that it is sharper, perhaps, than it has _ ever _ been.

"It is nearly as sharp and dangerous as _ I _ am, now," Arum hisses low with a flick of the tongue, and something about his tone coils in Damien's stomach, and his breath catches and his fingers twitch and-

"Ah!"

Damien only barely manages not to drop the blade, though he has run the curved tip across his palm, below his thumb, pulling open a shallow red line.

"Honeysuckle-" Arum sits up straighter, his tongue darting in the air again, and then his brow furrows deep. "Foolish creature. I _ sharpened _ it. Did you not think it would then _ be sharp? _"

"My- my hand _ slipped, _ Arum, I assure you it was not some intentional testing of your word. Ah, ah-"

Arum slips from the sheets, rolling unsteadily to his feet. "Let me see- ah, not too terribly deep, then." He reaches a hand out, taking the blade back, and then he pushes Damien so that he stumbles to sit on the bed instead. Damien makes an instinctive noise in protest, but Arum narrows his eyes sternly. "Sit, you delicate little songbird." He turns away then, limping to the counter and then reaching to rummage through the cabinets, grumbling to himself as he goes.

"Arum, I-"

"Hush. I have seen the doctor work enough that I believe I can manage so small a wound as this." He returns with disinfectant and a roll of bandages, and when Damien opens his mouth to protest again he scowls. "I should certainly love to see you attempt to apply all of this one _ handed, _ honeysuckle. It was my efforts that you managed to damage yourself upon, allow me to fix it so you may not lay this blame on me as well."

Damien feels his cheeks darkening as Arum kneels heavily beside the bed, and then he takes Damien's hands in his own with an inarguable sort of gentleness, turning his palm upwards and hissing low. His eyes glitter as he examines the injury, as he begins to treat it.

Lord Arum does not work with the same smiling sort of care that his Rilla does, but he is efficient and attentive, even as he growls under his breath. When he slices through the bandage with a claw to separate it from the roll, Damien's pulse jumps oddly, his breath catching, and Arum meets his eye for a moment.

"Careless little honeysuckle," he murmurs as he finishes the wrapping. Then he draws his claws over the white of the bandages on Damien’s palm with a delicacy that makes Damien's skin race with something that feels like lightning. "If I did not know any better, I would think you were _trying_ to have your petals plucked…"

Damien feels heat rush through him like a furnace door thrown open at his back, his hand flexing in Arum's grasp. "I… Lord Arum, I…" he pauses, and Arum's eyes are so vivid, so _ strange. _ "Th-thank you."

Arum blinks, and then his vivid eyes drop. He releases Damien's hand, then shifts to grip the bed so he can pull himself to stand. "Don't thank me," he mutters, his tone so entirely blank after the strange warmth that came before. "It was my sharpness that cut you. I was simply ensuring that you would have no evidence to throw in Amaryllis' face to push further towards my _ death, _ little knight."

The coldness of the words pushes Damien to stand, far more than Arum climbing back into the bed does.

"Arum-"

"What?" Arum is already curled onto his side atop the blankets, already turned away, but he shoots Damien an irritable look over his shoulder. “What, knight?”

Damien feels his mouth hanging open. His eyes draw slow along the strange, elegant curves of Arum's snout, his teeth, his horns, but he cannot find the right words.

The pause hangs too long, and Arum drops his eyes with a sigh, rolling to face away.

Damien feels his heart, thudding like a stranger at the door. He lifts his bandaged hand, cupping it to his chest, and he feels the wound pulse too, with each unceasing beat.

* * *

The jungle is darker, after all that fire, and there is a glass jar rattling heavy (in metaphorical weight) in Rilla's pocket, and Rilla has enough Numb-Cap to make Marc's medicine for _ years_, now, and she's so tired that she feels like she could collapse. And _ Marc- _

"So… Rilla… do you want to-"

"No."

"You didn't even let me finish!"

"You were gonna ask if I wanna talk about it, and I _don't,_ Marc."

"But, Rilla-"

Rilla scowls and starts walking faster, pulling ahead of Marc and Dampierre for a moment or two.

"Rilla! C'mon, don't- don't be like that. You can't _ honestly _ expect me not to be worried! That- that whole thing-"

"We _ handled _ it, Marc. It's done with."

"We _ did _ and don't get me wrong, any adventure with that many explosions is gonna wind up featured prominently in my memoirs, but seriously, what the hell _ was _ that?"

"A bunch of big, gross, mutated fungi with shitty magic metaphor powers," she gripes, but Marc pulls Dampierre in front of her, making her stumble to a scowling stop. "Marc. I want to go _ home, _ finish your pills, and go to sleep."

"You _ know _ that's not what I meant, Rilla." He stares down at her, his eyebrows furrowed with uncharacteristic gravity. "That fake-monster that fake-Damien was trying to kill. You called it by _ name, _ Rilla."

Rilla's muscles tense. She hadn't- she didn't realize that-

"If you're doing something dangerous- we're _ family, _ Rilla. I just want to know that you're safe, okay? It's been … things have been dangerous, lately. More dangerous than normal, I mean. The monsters have been pulling stuff like that fungus, you know? Stuff that gets in your head, uses your fears against you, turns you against each _ other, _ and I just- I know you won't take a break from your work, but I need to know that you're at least looking out for yourself."

"I'm looking out for myself, Marc," she grits out through her teeth, and then she pushes her way around Dampierre. They're close enough to the hut that she can see the light through the underbrush, and she just doesn't have the energy-

"I'm just- c'mon, I'm not being unfair here, I _ know _ I'm not," he says, trotting after her again. "Just tell me why you seemed just as freaked out about Damien hurting that lizard as you did about it going the _ other _ way, Rilla, because I just can't-"

She spins back, scowling. "Drop it, Marc!"

"Just give me _ something _ to go on, here! Give me _ something _ that lets me know you aren't doing something illegal and dangerous again, because right now I'm scared that the _ next _ time you get caught red handed, they're gonna skip the exile and go straight for execution!"

Rilla's breath catches. "I- I-"

"Rilla," Marc says. "Please. You _ know _ that I love you. You _ gotta _ talk to me, because if things have gone so wrong that _ I'm _ the one worrying about you? We're breaking the natural order of the universe, here. Water's gonna start flowing uphill next thing you know."

A laugh pushes past her panic, choking but sincere. She hesitates, then steps closer to Marc again, reaching a hand to rub Dampierre's ear as she meets Marc's eye.

"I love you too," she says, first, and then she sighs. "I wish I could explain, Marc, I really, _ really _ do, but- but I don't know how to. You just have to trust me. You have to trust that I know what I'm doing."

"You say that even when you _ don't _ know what you're doing, though," he points out, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, well." She shakes her head. "This time I mean it, okay? Look, just- I didn't know for sure that they were _ fake _ when I burned them, Marc. I had a solid theory, but I didn't _ know, _ and I still did it because I knew it was the right thing to do. Because I knew Damien would rather burn than kill himself with guilt, and because I knew if I was wrong about A-" she stumbles. "About the monster, if he would hurt Damien or anyone else, it would be _ my _ fault. So- so I burned them."

"Rilla…"

"You have to trust me," she repeats. "I _ know _ that I'm right. That I'm doing the right _ thing. _ But- but if the evidence doesn't bear that out, I'll … I'll face those consequences. I'll deal with the situation. I'll _ fix _ it."

Marc's frown eases, just slightly, and after a moment he sighs, reaching out to pat the back of her hand. "Alright, Rilla. Okay. Just… be careful? And- and just- let me know, y’know? If you need help, if- if things get out of hand."

Rilla sighs, too tired to bristle properly at the suggestion that she might need help, and then she nods. "I know, Marc. I will. Now c'mon, we're almost there, and I still gotta make your medicine."

* * *

They hear Rilla come in through the closed exam room door, and she calls out very clearly to Marc through the outer door before they hear her pull the window open so she can continue to talk to him as she starts to mix her ingredients together.

It takes about an hour, all told, and Damien does not relax that entire time. From the way Arum keeps forgetting himself and growling low, from the way his tail continues to flick and thrash, neither does the monster. Eventually, though, Rilla passes some quiet words to Marc, and then she finally, finally closes the window again. Even through the door Damien can hear Rilla sigh so deeply it makes Damien's heart _ pull, _ her exhaustion a physical sort of pain within him.

Once he hears the hoofbeats fade away from the hut, Damien pulls the door of the exam room open and Rilla is already standing just outside, her legs muddy to the knee, her hair pulling from her braid and clouding around her, her eyes bright, and she looks at him and then over his shoulder at Arum and then her shoulders sag and her face splits with such _ relief _ that it looks as if it may crumple her.

Damien takes her into his arms instantly, without thought, guiding her back out into the front room. "Rilla, my dearest, my Amaryllis, you aren't hurt, are you?"

"No. I promise, I'm not, I just-"

"What happened?"

"Monster mushrooms, basically," she mumbles, shrugging, and Damien tries not to feel it like ice in his guts, his failure to protect her. "We- we dealt with it."

He inhales, exhales, prays for a silent moment, and then he asks, "And you are _ certain _ that you were not hurt?"

"I'm just-" her voice is too thick, but she gives a laugh through it, waving a hand in the air and pushing her hair out of her face. "Tired, that's all. I'm just- exhausted and covered in gross fungus slime and- and I've got about a thousand sticks caught in my hair, and- and- and I'm glad," she laughs again, a little wild. "I'm glad you didn't f-fight, while I was gone."

"Of course not," Damien says, as soft as he can manage, and then he pulls her closer, squeezing tight for just a moment before he spins, turning her as if they're dancing for only a breath. She chokes a surprised laugh against him as he gently maneuvers her to sit by the table, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. "Now. I can help with at least one of your dilemmas, my love. Let me fetch a brush, and I will at least help you comb the jungle from your hair before we sleep."

She inhales a shaky breath, then nods. "Alright. I'm- I'm not gonna _ argue _ if you wanna- if you wanna spoil me a bit," she murmurs weakly.

"Always," he murmurs through a smile, "I always do." He kisses her temple again before he straightens to go fetch the comb.

When he returns, Arum is in the doorway of his room, peering out at the herbalist with obvious concern, leaning heavily on his crutch.

"You are- not injured?"

Rilla sighs, and that more than anything assures Damien that her exhaustion is no small thing. Ordinarily, she would at _ least _ scowl at having that question asked of her a _ third _ time.

"Merely weary, she assures me," Damien says, and Arum flicks his eyes towards the knight for a moment before he frowns, and then nods. The monster watches as Damien steps close again, sinking to sit behind Rilla so he may take the tie from her hair, and slowly begin to comb out the tangles, the leaves and- and bits of ash that seem to have stuck there.

She sighs again, deep and tired, leaning back into Damien's hands, and he slowly, soothingly, quietly combs out her hair. He's nearly forgotten Arum watching them by the time the monster slowly crosses the room, sinking to sit at the other end of the table, watching with suspicious, curious eyes. When Damien is finished, when he has managed the worst of the tangles and brushed out the soot and debris, he sighs, and then he starts to separate out the sections to pull her hair into a new braid, but-

"Ah. Hm."

His hand. The hurt is almost entirely dulled, by now, but the placement of the cut and the resulting placement of the bandages make it so he cannot quite bend his thumb in the way he needs to. Rilla glances over her shoulder, blinking at him muzzily, and then she finally seems to notice the injury herself, sucking in a startled breath.

"Damien, what- what _ happened? _" She pulls his hand into her own, her thumbs gentle on his skin, and over her head Damien watches as Arum cringes, drawing his shoulders up towards his chin, clearly expecting-

"Simply a cut, love. I was going through my packs, and I was careless, and I cut myself. I assure you I am fine."

She frowns, and then she shoots him a look. "This bandaging is too neat. You didn't do this."

Brilliant, Damien thinks helplessly, his heart pooling with bright, sparking love. "No," he says. "It would have been too difficult, of course, with only the one hand. Lord Arum was… generous enough to assist."

Lord Arum hisses under his breath at the mention, his frill raising and his face turned decidedly away from the both of them, now, hidden by the folds.

"He was, huh?" Rilla says, and her amusement manages to push through the layer of exhaustion that hangs upon her. Amusement, and a clear note of fondness, as well. "Well…" she pauses, gently turning Damien's hand in her own, biting her lip. "I… my hands are a little… shaky, at the moment. Maybe he'd wanna be generous again, just for a second?"

Arum freezes, and then his frill presses to his neck and he glances towards the pair of them with a look of alarm.

"Wh- what do you mean? What do you _ want_?"

Rilla ducks her head, and then she glances up at the monster and Damien knows what she means, even if Arum does not.

Damien feels, perhaps, that he should be… concerned, at the very least. Disgusted, even. But…

"Do you… do you know how to braid, Lord Arum?" he asks, tilting his head, and Arum blinks, and then scowls.

"Of course I do. Don't ask foolish questions."

"Would you… perhaps… would you help me to braid Rilla's hair, again? With my hand…" Damien frowns gently at himself, and he fully expects the monster to snap, to laugh, to bolt.

Arum stares, his violet eyes wide and stunned, and then he drops his gaze, pulling his hands close to wring awkwardly in front of himself for a moment before he seems to become _ aware _ of what he is doing, and then without answering he- he crawls closer, bringing himself beside Damien and stubbornly not looking at Rilla as she smiles, breathing a soft laugh.

"Fine. Helpless little thing. Move aside, will you?"

Damien shifts, moving to sit beside Rilla instead, and then he gestures for Arum to take his place, and the monster does so with a graceless grumble. Rilla exhales, her eyes closing again as three of Arum's hands (the fourth, his broken wrist, apparently not quite dexterous enough for the task just yet) sink into Rilla's hair, parting and sectioning it off before he starts to weave an elegant braid slowly down.

Arum's shoulders are stiff, at first, but Rilla is quiet in front of him and the monster seems to ease into the pattern of the motions, eventually, and Damien is quiet as well as he watches, the movements of Arum's scaled hands almost hypnotic in their rhythmic consistency.

Rilla falls asleep before he is halfway done. Damien thinks that Arum notices that this has happened as well, considering the way that his motions grow slower and more careful as his claws carefully twine her hair together. When he reaches the last few inches, Damien passes him the little leather band for him to tie at the bottom of the braid. Damien tilts his head to better see the rippling whole of it, a complex and beautiful weave, even if it was only done with three of the monster's four hands. Damien is unsure if he could replicate it with only his two. He finds himself wondering what sorts of complexities they could create if he and Arum were both to…

Arum is staring at the braid as well, and he lifts a hand as if to drift it down the softness of Rilla's hair, but he stops himself just before he makes contact. He pulls his hand back to his chest, clutching the scales just over his heart, and Damien feels his own heart skip, oddly.

Arum glances towards him then, his tongue flicking.

"What… ah… she has-" he pauses, hissing a low, concerned noise. "Amaryllis is _ sleeping _ on my _ legs, _ honeysuckle. What- what- what do I _ do_?"

Damien barely manages to muffle his laugh so that it does not bubble bright and loud. He does not wish to wake her, if he can help it, but it is- _ ridiculous, _ utterly absurd, for Lord Arum to be so thoroughly trapped merely because he does not wish to wake Rilla. Damien has some degree of practice in this arena, however.

"Just be still for one moment, Lord Arum," Damien murmurs, and then he comes closer, eyeing the both of them and taking a moment to determine his approach. He leans down, slipping one arm beneath Rilla's knees, the other behind her back. It is impossible not to touch Lord Arum in this, too, since she is leaning back against the monster, and his scales are cool and strange against Damien's arm. Arum hisses low at the contact, and his chest is rumbling in a way that vibrates against Damien's skin. Damien tries not to notice. Tries not to feel the way the contact makes his stomach twist, the odd contrast of Rilla's gentle warmth in his arms beside Arum's coolness, and then he carefully, carefully lifts.

Rilla, safe in his arms, her head slumping to rest against his shoulder with her monster-woven braid rippling down her back, and Arum stares up at the both of them with his head tilted, his expression focused and wary, and Damien smiles without meaning to.

"Thank you," he murmurs, and Arum scowls but does not deflect this time, and Damien drops his gaze from the monster as he carefully carries Rilla to the bedroom.

When he reaches the doorway, however, he hesitates, and then he glances back towards Arum, still sat amongst the cushions by the table.

"Can… can you manage back to your room on your own?" Damien asks, after a pause, and Arum looks away.

"In a few minutes, perhaps," he mutters. "I believe the doctor put my legs to sleep along with herself."

Damien stifles another laugh, pressing his lips softly to Rilla's hair to hide his smile. He hesitates again, but then-

"When I have settled her… I will come help you to your feet again, at least," he murmurs.

Arum blinks, his thin lips parting, but Damien simply nods and carries Rilla into her room, before Arum can thank him. Before Damien can memorize that precise look, flustered surprise shaping Arum's inhuman face.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their time together in Rilla's hut is nearly over, and there are many words between them that still remain unsaid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I basically had to hack the FUCKING matrix to make this chapter happen right now. My internet has been out for at least fourteen hours. Please excuse any typos that managed to slip through. ALSO, PLEASE NOTE, I have been warning for mild suicidal ideation and passive suicidal ideation. This chapter necessitates a trigger warning for active suicidal ideation and something that amounts to a suicide attempt. Sorry. I say again, I swear this fic is supposed to be soft.

Rilla wakes with Damien's arms around her, the echo-memory of Arum’s hands in her hair, and the first thing she thinks when she is conscious again is, _ of course it sprayed us with the spores, we were hacking it to pieces. _

She stares at Damien's skin in closeup for a while, at the subtle mapping of scars across his arm, his shoulder. She knows the source of most of them, even the ones from before she knew Damien. It used to be a sort of game with them, Rilla's hands on him, tracing the lines of old wounds, finding new stories for him to share. She knows the stories of all the wounds he's gotten since then, too. She treated the vast majority of them, after all.

So many scars. So many fights. So many monsters, slain. 

Rilla doesn't know the exact number. It's always rising, mission by mission, and she doesn't bother to keep track the way Damien does, for his lighthearted wager with Angelo.

So many scars.

How many of those monsters were like Arum? How many were scared, confused, angry? How many would have accepted mercy, accepted a truce, if it were offered? How many were like the Numb-Cap? How many were only defending themselves, clinging to life in whatever way they could manage? How many of them were fighting, and how many were only fighting _ back? _

Rilla's least favorite sorts of questions are the ones she knows she'll never be able to answer. 

She sighs, and she leans to press a kiss to one of the silvery lines on Damien's shoulder, and then she smiles as he stirs.

  


* * *

  


"No, because it likely _ will not react that way again, _ Amaryllis. If you predict it will act one way, it _ might, _ or it may take an entirely different path." Arum scowls. "Magic will not do as you expect. It will not act as you _ want _ it to. You _ cannot predict it_."

"That's complete bullshit, Arum. Even _ randomness _ is predictable! The uncertainty of the outcome of specific situations doesn't mean that you can't figure out the more _ general _ probability of outcomes in the long-term. There will still be _ patterns_, or at least more _ likely _ outcomes."

"Hold-"

"That is _ beside _ the point, Amaryllis. The predictability of natural systems does not come into play. Magic _ ignores _ that. Magic is _ outside _ of it."

"But-"

"If it affects our world, it's _ part of the world_, Arum. You can't just hand-wave and say it's _ bigger _ and act like that's an answer!"

"It is not _ an _ answer. It is _ the _ answer. Magic will not conform to your measure because it does not _ want _ to. The Universe will resist such limits. You are blinded by your own current perceptions, you cannot see what lies outside of them."

"Oh that is so fucking- don't you _ dare _ condescend to me, Arum-"

"_Please,_" Damien cries, and Rilla and Arum stop glaring at each other over their meal to glance his way instead. He winces at the attention, especially considering the way that Arum is growling and flicking his tail, but he sighs in relief at the cessation of shouting, as well. "Thank you. This does not seem to be a _ productive _ argument, my flower," he breathes, and Rilla snorts and folds her arms over her chest. "And- and Lord Arum, I must ask-"

Arum wrinkles his snout, narrows his eyes. "_What_, honeysuckle? I do not think Amaryllis requires _ defending_, conversationally. She can speak for herself."

Damien blinks. "What? No, no that was not what I was going to say, not at all. I had- a question, in fact-"

The suspicion on Arum's face deepens, but Rilla is starting to look curious. "What did you wish to ask, then?"

"The way you are describing it…" Damien pauses, tilts his head. "You almost make it sound as if… are you implying that the Universe is… conscious? That it has a will of its own? You said it will _ resist _ predictability. Do you mean that- literally?"

Arum opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. "It- well. That is a rather _ crude _ way to think of it-"

"Resists… huh." Rilla looks contemplative now, rather than furious. "You said the Universe _ resists_. That _ does _ seem to imply… huh. I mean, if your interpretation is that there is an actual willful _ force _ at play in regards to magic, I guess that would explain an element of _ apparent _ randomness. A force that picks and chooses, and doesn't _ want _ to be understood-"

Arum blinks. "That- have you been listening at _ all_? That- that is _ precisely _ as I have been attempting to explain-"

"You have been arguing," Damien points out mildly. "Not explaining. And I mean that for the both of you," he adds, when Rilla's smile goes smug.

She scowls then, but it does not stick. She shakes her head, tears out an entire page of notes, and then she tilts her head at Arum. "Okay, alright, _ fair. _ So- does magic have a _ personality_, then? Or does it actively resist to the point of feigning mysteriousness on that front too?"

Arum nearly smiles, as he starts to answer, and Damien-

Damien has to clench his fists beneath the table, to distract himself from the feeling of delight that lances through him, at the lightening of the mood. From the joy he should not feel, that his words have calmed the conflict between this monster and his love.

  


* * *

  


When Rilla checks Arum over, she realizes with a small pang that a good chunk of his injuries don't need to be bandaged anymore. It feels- all at once, in an odd way. The basilisk claw wound will still need to be sealed for a while longer, and the place where he was stabbed in his lower back is much the same, but besides those and the cast on his broken wrist… most of them are closer to scars than wounds, now.

It almost seems lewd, the lack of clean white covering the gleam of his scales. Rilla would feel downright awkward about it, if he didn't have the cape.

Though, the cape comes with its own issue. All Arum needs to do is gesture (and Arum tends to gesture quite a bit, as he speaks, his flair for the dramatic easily on display), and the cape parts, and when it does it reveals so much more of Arum's chest than Rilla is really used to seeing.

He's so damn _ shiny_. She really can't help the way her eyes keep returning to him, over and over again.

  


* * *

  


It takes Rilla a moment to register that the light, pervasive smell of the fire crackling in her hearth has changed, has gone smoky and _ unpleasant. _ She sets her coffee down with a clatter and spins from the table, already thinking of the bucket of water she keeps near the Jungle Flame sapling just in case, but-

Arum is standing in front of her fire, eyes narrowed and hard, shaking out the jar of grubs she had left on the counter, loosing the insects to sizzle and pop in the flames.

"Arum! What- what are you _ doing? _ Those-"

"Are _ far _ more dangerous than you could possibly realize, Amaryllis," he hisses, giving the jar one last forceful shake, and then he turns towards her, leaning against the wall for support. "Believe me when I say I have done you a _ service, _ just now."

Rilla fists her hands at her sides, _ burning _ with fury as she watches the last of the grubs shrivel in the heat. "Arum you can't just destroy my experiments because you think they're too _ scary _ for me! Saints, you're gonna give Damien a run for his money if you keep this up. I was right in the middle of testing those!"

"They were too dangerous, Amaryllis. Not just for _ you, _ but for your entire- for everyone alive."

"You don't get to just _decide_ that, Arum!"

"Be furious with me if you must," he says, and then he looks towards the fire again, his mouth flat and hard, "but I do not regret this action. I could not allow those _ things _ to do any more harm."

"Any…" Rilla pauses narrowing her eyes. "_More _ harm. You- you _ know _ something about those grubs, don't you? You don't just know _ what _ they are. You've got some connection to them."

Arum stands a little straighter, his jaw clenching for a moment before he takes a deep breath, and then he lifts his violet eyes to meet her own. "Yes. I created them."

"You- _ what?"_

"You found them when you were traversing the jungle with that other human," he says, his voice very blank. "I imagine… I imagine that they must have escaped their container on the day I was attacked, that they were latched to my clothing or scales and wandered after I washed onto the shore. They must have been leeching onto the local life for some time, now."

"What do you mean, you _ made _ them?"

"That is what I do," he says, and then he looks away from her. "What I… what I _ did. _ I _ create_. Tools, and traps, and- and creatures. Those were… one prototype. One attempt."

"An attempt- an attempt to do _ what, _ exactly?"

Arum stares at her, his chest rattling and his tail doing an uncomfortable curl behind him, and then Arum drops her gaze again. "It does not matter," he hisses. "They were a _ failure, _ and even leaving that aside- the monsters who hired me to make- the monsters who hired me in the first place are guilty not merely of breaching our contract but of _ shattering _ it. I need no longer _ care _ what I was meant to make for them. The grubs- a failure. A _ dangerous _ failure. Something that caused so much harm… something that made the world that much more cruel should not be allowed to live. Their very existence posed too great a risk." He swallows, roughly. "Too much harm. They deserved to be destroyed."

Arum's hands are shaking. Rilla finally notices, because his claws are clinking against the glass of the empty jar. She inhales, forces the breath out through her teeth, and then she unclenches her own hands and steps closer.

"You… you're overexerting yourself, and your cape's gonna catch fire if you keep standing so close to the hearth, you ass," she says with a sigh, and then she wraps an arm around his back to maneuver him back to the table.

"It is somewhat resistant to flame, in fact," he mutters, and when Rilla scowls at him for the deflection his cheeks twitch. Not _ quite _ a smile, but something softer than the previous coldness of his eyes, at least.

Rilla makes sure he's sitting comfortably, and then she sighs again and settles on the cushions just beside him. He clenches his jaw, swallows, and watches her carefully.

"So… the monsters that hired you, they're the same ones that did this to you," she says, reaching out to just barely, barely brush her hand against his remaining bandages. "Yeah?"

He hisses, in response to her touch or her words, though she isn't sure which. He does not answer her, though, and he won't meet her eye. She raises her hand after a moment, gently running her fingers down his frill instead, and his hiss chokes off oddly, his throat rumbling low and strange. "Amaryllis," he manages in a rough voice.

"I'm sorry," she says simply. "The evidence suggested that you got stabbed in the back, but- I didn't realize that was literal _ and _ metaphorical. Getting blindsided like that- betrayed," she frowns as he continues to avoid her eyes, neither pulling away from her hand or leaning into it. "I'm just sorry."

"Should have expected it," he mutters, the movement of his jaw shifting his scales, soft against her palm. "Of course they would look out for their own interests. You cannot expect any creature to act otherwise. We are all only ever scraping for our own survival, regardless of who is stepped on in the process."

"That isn't…" Rilla breathes an incredulous laugh, dropping her hand. "That's not true, but that's not the conversation right now. It's not your fault this happened to you-"

"It is the _ fault _ of those who attacked me, first and foremost," Arum snaps. "But… but it would not have happened at all, if I had been… if I had been less careless. I should have arranged the meeting somewhere more secure, somewhere protected, but- but I was arrogant in my own abilities, and I… I did not wish to risk my Keep. If they attacked me…"

He pauses, and Rilla doesn't interrupt. He glances toward her, eyes flicking between her own for a long moment, and then he sighs.

"Go on, Amaryllis."

She blinks. "Go on?"

"I know you are _ curious, _ I know you want to ask. I know you've wanted to ask for _ ages. _ Go on, then."

"Okay," she says slowly, sitting back so she can better watch his face. "Okay. But, um. I wasn't _ going _ to ask, just to be clear."

"I know, Amaryllis. Go on."

"Okay… so…" she bites her lip, tilts her head. "The Keep?"

He closes his eyes, exhaling a strange, low trill, birdlike and mournful. "My Keep," he echoes. "My _ home. _ My creator, and counterpart, and charge. It and I have been… separated for far too long."

"I'm sorry," Rilla says again.

Arum sighs, his eyes still closed. "Our permanent separation would have been assured if not for your efforts, Amaryllis. The apology is unneeded."

"Fair," Rilla says. "I… I just- I meant it, before, when I said that I know how hard it is to be separated from your family, Arum, and that… that's what it sounds like the Keep is to you."

"Yes… that seems… a fair assessment. Family. Our bond is difficult to explain." He pauses, then breathes a light laugh. "I have never _ needed _ to explain, before. It just… it simply _ is. _ The Keep and I… I am its Lord, and its familiar. We are meant to exist in tandem, meant to protect each other."

"And you've been stuck _ here,_" Rilla says, her breath catching.

Arum's eyes open, vivid and gleaming in the light of morning, but he does not answer.

"I'll get you back," Rilla says, fierce and sharp. "_Soon. _ No more waiting. Most of the bandages are off. You can nearly walk on your own, I’m sure you can _ ride. _ We'll- we'll pull out maps this afternoon, plan a route. I'll go to the Citadel to buy supplies. I can't afford a carriage, but maybe a horse, maybe two, just for couple weeks- I can make that happen, I know some folks who owe me favors-"

He finally looks at her again, frill fluttering and clearly startled by her sudden intensity. "Amaryllis…"

"I'll get you home. I don't care what it takes. I'll get you back to your Keep."

Arum stares at her, his bright eyes gone brighter, for a long moment. Then his tongue flicks out, and he drops his eyes, looking down at the empty glass jar still clutched in his hands. His breath hitches, just for a moment, and the strange smile that curves his mouth makes Rilla's stomach do a nervous little flip.

"As you say, Amaryllis," he says, voice gone rough. "The Keep… it should not have been alone this long. It deserves to have a familiar, again."

  


* * *

  


Amaryllis is as good as her word. Arum does not know why he thought to expect anything else.

Her maps are sufficient. He indulges her, helps her plan a theoretical route. He points out unmapped monster territories to avoid, gently suggests the half of the route closer to his home, imagines what it would be like, to take this journey by her side in truth.

He indulges in other ways, as well. He does not bury his smiles, when she delights him. He listens more attentively, when Damien spins his tales. He exercises his wrist as Amaryllis instructs, and he feels the gentle burn of healing, while he still may.

Tomorrow she will spend her day in the human Citadel, purchasing what she will require, making arrangements for her more ordinary, more deserving patients. Sir Damien will remain behind; the Universe will grant him that much, at least. 

It would be kinder to stop her, before she wastes the time, but Arum is a coward in so very many ways.

The first time Arum saw Amaryllis, it was bathed in moonlight. Lakeside, just past sunset, too awash with pain to resist her gentle hands, to resist the return of unconsciousness. But he remembers. Dark, warm eyes, concern and curiosity on her face, cool silver light glancing from her hair.

(For a moment, delirious, he had wondered if he failed to destroy the Hermit after all.)

It seems… right. It feels like the proper end of their story together, that when he watches her leave, she is lit up bright in the flare of sunrise.

  


* * *

  


While Rilla travels to fetch supplies from the Citadel for a good portion of the day, Arum has been explicitly instructed to remain in his cot, to rest and gather his strength for the journey ahead. Damien has no _ call _ to spend the day watching over the creature, of course. Arum has been… quiet, the last few days. Less irritable. He has not so much as given a grumble or a frown over Rilla's stern warnings not to exert himself in her absence. It _ seems _ that the creature intends to do exactly as Rilla wishes.

Damien thinks, perhaps, he should find it a relief, that Arum seems to have ceased to take joy from contradicting Rilla, and from his verbal sniping with Damien. 

In truth… Damien's stomach has been twisting and rolling with formless worry. Damien is frightened, and it makes him feel all the worse that he cannot seem to place the source of his fear. He finds himself in Arum's room without cause, relieved when Arum is safely within sight, and the monster does not mock, does not complain him away.

"You should finish your song, little bird," Arum says, when it becomes clear that Damien has run through his excuses, to remain by Arum's bedside, and his voice is terribly soft, hissing and hypnotic. Damien feels his stomach clench, again.

"My- my song?"

Arum watches his face for a moment, and then his lip curls, just slightly. "Your poem, honeysuckle. I know you have not forgotten."

Damien exhales, surprised, because- "Are you- asking, Lord Arum?"

"If you wish to prove the superiority of your art," Arum says, tilting his head, "this may be our last stretch of time together, before I am gone."

Damien's stomach twists, twists. Something is wrong. Something Damien cannot place.

"V-very well, then. You- you-" he shudders out a breath. "You said, before, you had forgotten. Need I start again?"

"I lied, little songbird," Arum murmurs, settling against the sheets and closing his eyes for a moment. "Of course I remember. Tell me the rest. Tell me how it ends."

Damien knew, already, that Arum wanted to hear the end of the story. But Arum is not even pretending to hide that fact, anymore. Something is _ wrong_.

Damien hesitates, his stomach twisting, his mind spinning with formless, placeless worry, and then Arum opens his eyes again, fixing him with a soft, soft stare.

"It will only embarrass us both, honeysuckle," he murmurs, "if you make me say _ please_."

Damien cannot bear that gaze. He closes his own eyes for a long moment, breathing, composing himself, remembering his place in the tale and spinning up a little reintroduction, a reminder of where they left off.

There is safety in this, at least, even if Damien still cannot shake that sense of formless danger. The story is still safe, and Arum does not pretend, this time, to be indifferent. He laughs, he _ smiles,_ he curls his tail and breathes sharp and stiffens when the climax of the poem goes fraught and dangerous, and his relief in the bittersweet ending is so clear that Damien can nearly taste it.

Arum closes his eyes, lifts his snout, makes an odd trilling noise at the back of his throat for only a moment before he sighs. "Thank you, little bird. It was a lovely song."

Damien coughs lightly, then lifts the glass of water from Arum's bedside to wet his throat. This- Arum-

"I should hope all of the boring, petty restrictions of humankind did not impede too terribly upon your enjoyment, Lord Arum," Damien says, forcing as much aggressive, cheerful teasing into the words as he can manage.

"It was lovely," Arum repeats, his tone blank and soft. "A beautiful story, told with skill. I concede."

It is- too much. The worry sloshes, overflowing, spilling over Damien's lips.

"Something is wrong," he says, and he feels too coiled with tension to remain still. His feet move with barely a push from his mind, and he begins to pace by the bed. "You are- something is _ wrong, _ I know- I know you are acting _ strangely_, Arum, and-"

"I am a monster, honeysuckle. I think I would always have seemed strange, to you."

"You know perfectly well that is not what I mean," Damien snaps. "What's wrong? What- has one of your injuries worsened? I can send a pigeon for Rilla if-"

"I am healing perfectly well, honeysuckle."

"Then what _ is _ it? If it is not something physical- have I finally managed to truly offend? What is _ wrong_?"

Arum's mouth twists oddly, not quite a smile. "You have not offended, do not worry over that." He pauses to laugh, very lightly. "It is unsurprising, I think," he says slowly, "that a poet and a knight would be so perceptive."

"Arum. Please speak. I cannot- I cannot stand this- this strangeness, this tension. Speak. Tell me what is wrong."

Arum breathes slow, and then he looks away from the knight.

"Do you know why I am here, Damien?" Arum asks, and he is staring towards the window now, his hands loose and slack in his lap.

"Is this- a trick question?" Damien raises an eyebrow, thrown by the direction Arum is leading them. "From what I understand, Rilla pulled you from the shore of the lake and then bore you here."

"Do you know why I was in that lake in the first place, then," he amends, still looking away.

"Clearly, Arum, I do not."

Arum smiles, a little grimly. "I have been thinking on it, lately. The path that led me here, the choices I made, and the choices that were made for me."

"Ah," Damien says, his tone going defensively mocking, out of confusion more than anything else. "The monster has developed a sense of the philosophical, suddenly, has he?"

Arum laughs, but the strange grimness in his expression does not fade, and he looks to Damien at last. "I was hired to create weapons to destroy your Citadel," he says, plain and flat.

Damien feels his face go stiff, his hands clench, his stomach drop. He feels _ cold_, very suddenly. "_What_?"

"I did not have the chance to fulfill that contract," he says, and he is looking down at his hands now, lip curled wryly. "Not to completion. After some early prototypes they decided that they needed only the _ tool,_ not the creature responsible for _ finding _ it, not-" he pauses. "They decided that I, in my solitude, could not be trusted to this task. They coveted my tool, and instead of taking advantage of my skill and my position, they lied. Arranged a meeting, somewhere I did not have access to the protection of my home. To- to _ discuss particulars_, and to verify that I possessed the tool I claimed. I was wary, but I did not feel that I had a choice-"

"Why are you-"

"If I refused, it would endanger my home and all in my care. If I renegotiated the meeting, it would show weakness, and potentially expose my home to further risk. I prepared as best I could, before our meeting, but-"

The monster pauses, and Damien stares at him for a long moment. "But?"

"I have some skill in combat, of course, but I am an architect. Not a warrior." He sighs. "Not, I should think, that it would have mattered much if I _ were_. Even a warrior may be stabbed in the back."

"Why are you telling me this?" Damien asks, uncomfortable and twisting that feeling into anger, before it can curdle into something more dangerous.

"I would have done it," he mutters. "Left to my own devices, I would rather have nothing to do with either humans _ or _ monsters, would rather be left _ alone, _ but- but they offered the contract, and I knew that the end result would have destroyed humanity, if executed properly. I would have _ done _ it, without a second thought. If it would protect… I would have done it."

"Why are you _ telling _ me this?" Damien repeats, the fury within him stoking higher, and higher still.

"They did not allow me that choice. They plucked it from me and then attempted to discard me. And then-" he inhales, lip curling into something like a smile. "And then, Amaryllis. The monster collective dismisses my skills and attempts to destroy me rather than allowing me to create that which should destroy humanity, and then the waters bring me _ here_, and then a human, of all creatures-"

_ (the waters bring me _here)

"Monster," Damien snarls, his heart hammering in his chest, "_why are you telling me this_?"

"I work with and work around the forces of the Universe often enough to recognize them working upon _ me_," he mutters, and then he sighs. "The choice was taken from my hands, but I know what I would have chosen, then. I would have created that which destroyed you, and Amaryllis, and all of the rest of your kin. I would have done it, never having known you. I would have destroyed every human in the Citadel. I did not _ care. _ I would have. I _ tried _ to. I _ wanted _ to."

Damien spins on his heel, snatches up his bow, and draws it. Arum stares at him from the bed, cool over the shaft of his arrow. "I will destroy you where you sit. I _ knew _ you could not be trusted, I knew your kindness towards Rilla was merely a _ trick_, I _ knew _ your intentions would be revealed! By Saint Damien above I will _ kill you_-"

"You would be justified to do so," Arum says. "We are at war. Had the circumstances changed by a breath, I would have killed _ you_."

"Be silent! You have said enough. I do not care what your _ circumstances_-"

Arum smiles, and it knocks the words from Damien's lips.

He smiles- but it is not a smile Damien wishes to see ever, _ ever _ again. The eager grimness, the _ desire_-

"Well, knight?" Arum says. "I do not know what you are _ waiting _ for. Certainly you have long since tired of this charade. Tired of indulging this stay of execution. I am tired, as well."

Damien's grip tightens. His fingers _ hurt_. And still the monster only stares, that bitterly satisfied smile curling his mouth and his violet eyes bright as lightning. Damien is furious, terrified, _ betrayed_, and he finally, finally feels that he may do as he is _ supposed _ to, that he may be fully justified in this-

Fury, terror, betrayal. Damien's hands are _ shaking_.

(_ cease your thrashing _)

There is no tranquility, here.

(_ listen — the water _)

Damien inhales. Exhales. He drops his aim, and then drops the bow and arrow both, to clatter to the floor.

"What are you _ doing_?" Arum snarls.

"Why now? Why tell me any of this _ now_, when you are mending, when you are nearly healed? Why push so very hard for your own _ death_, Arum?"

"I do not see how it _ matters. _ Do you have a duty to perform, _ knight_, or _ don't _ you?"

"I _ am _ a knight, Lord Arum, and I have slain many, many monsters," Damien says, his throat tight, "but I will not help you kill yourself."

Arum flinches, his frill flaring partway as his eyes widen in panic, and he clenches his claws in the sheets.

"If you are guilty- if you _ feel _ some measure of guilt- if you believe you deserve some sort of _ punishment_\- my arrows are not the answer to that feeling. You said that your decision was taken from you. You say you know what you _ would _ have done. Perhaps-" Damien swallows, uncomfortable, but his next words come certain and steady. "Perhaps you should ask yourself what you would do _ now_, if that same choice were laid before you. I will not act as the monsters before me, in seeking to deprive you of your decisions in death. I will not take your choice, nor your voice, from you. You will not use me as a weapon with which to destroy yourself."

Arum looks aside, his mouth twisting miserably down, his claws tearing holes in the sheets. "You- _ ridiculous _ creature. All this time you have been _ aching _ to kill me, little knight, but now- now you know the truth and still you will not? Fine. I will _ elaborate_. I attacked Amaryllis when you were gone. Tied her to the stool, threatened her with her own sedative. Did she tell you that?"

Damien nods, and Arum pulls his head back with a wild expression.

"And still you- fine. _ Fine_. Those- those grubs- the _ monster mushrooms _ that attacked Amaryllis and her companion, those were _ my doing _ as well, knight. A result of my creation- a consequence of the work of my own hands, gone loose and wild and dangerous. Did she tell you _ that_?"

Damien nods again, and the grim triumph on Arum's face disintegrates. "Even in your own guilt you reveal your nature," he says, and he is as surprised by the fact as Arum seems to be. "Gone loose and wild, you say. Did you intend for those creatures to hurt her?"

Arum snarls, opens his mouth, says, "Of _ course _ I- I-" he chokes, clenches his fists tight, and finishes in a whisper, "Yes. They were- they were created to- to destroy her."

"You are a poor liar, Arum," Damien murmurs. "I can put the pieces together well enough. You were hired to create weapons against humanity, and these creations of yours gone loose and wild must have been a part of that. This was not some attempt to harm Rilla. Not one with any active intent, at the very least."

"Passive intent," Arum rasps. "_Past _ intent. Does it _ matter_, knight? Do your _ duty_. Protect Amaryllis and _ slay _ me."

"My arrows are not the answer to your guilt," Damien repeats. "I have seen hopelessness, Arum," he says, and then his eyes slip shut for a moment, his heart thrumming with sorrow. "And even in that, I remain unconvinced that another way could not have been found. You- you should not turn away from your own survival so easily." He pauses, and then he slowly takes the last few steps towards the bed. Arum's eyes are wide, his breath hissing nervously between his teeth, and the monster looks more frightened _ now _ than he did when Damien was a breath from… from murdering him. Damien lifts a hand, as he has seen Rilla do so very many times before, and Arum inhales sharply, and Damien's mind fills with panic-

(_ listen — your heart _)

And like footprints below the tide, the panic washes away. Damien completes the motion, cupping Arum's jaw in his bandaged hand, feeling the vibration of the rumbling in his throat, watching the strange webbing of his frill flutter by his neck.

"Honeysuckle-"

"I must speak my heart, Arum," Damien murmurs. "Please. The waters brought you here. That is what you said. The waters brought you _ here_, brought you to Rilla. You say, as well, that you understand the machinations of the Universe. Perhaps that is so, but Arum…" Damien feels Arum's breath catch, when he says the monster's name, and with aching gentleness he lifts Arum's chin, just until Arum finally relents, and meets his eyes. "I know my Saint. Perhaps, Arum, it is possible that we know the same river by different names. The waters brought you here. You must know what I know, Arum. The waters brought you here to _ live._ They did not bring you here to die."

Arum stares, his violet eyes so wide and so stunned, bright like a meteor. Damien memorizes that expression, each elegant inch, the contrast of his hand against those beautiful, glossy scales.

And then, with a smile that feels utterly helpless, Sir Damien drops his hand, and turns, and walks from the room.

Something hot and wild and dangerous is blooming undeniable in his chest, but Sir Damien is no longer afraid. Something new is blooming, but Sir Damien is listening, now, and all he can hear is his own beating heart.

  


* * *

  


"_You're _ going to help me escort him home," Rilla says incredulously, eyebrow raised as she works the mortar and pestle in her hands, filling the room with the bright scent of herbs, already thinking through all she'll need to do to make up extra batches of salves and painkillers and emergency remedies she wants for the trip. "_You _ are. Really."

"I don't see that I have any choice," Damien murmurs, looking at the fireplace rather than at her. "I cannot let you take such a journey with only yourself and an injured charge, if any other monster were to happen upon you, if-"

"I _ can _ protect myself, Damien."

"And protect him as well?" Damien asks, and at first she thinks he is being sarcastic, or goading, but there is- a shocking earnestness, in the question. "Though I prefer, of course, to help to keep you safe where I can, I know you can defend yourself. But if you are worrying for yourself and another-" he exhales. "I think it would be best, if I were there to help. And- and I can save you the cost of the horse, at the very least."

"And you think you're going to be okay doing that? Protecting a monster, out in the wilds?"

"I imagine you have ideas for how to properly disguise him for the road," Damien says, and it's so obvious a deflection that she snorts out a laugh, a few sprinkles of her herb mixture bouncing from the stone bowl in her hand. "And I…"

"Do you still not trust him with me, Damien?" she asks, and she's genuinely surprised that she needs to ask, even now. "Do you _ really _ still think he's going to hurt me the moment your back is turned?"

Damien opens his mouth, snaps his jaw shut, and then winces before he makes a second attempt. "N-no. No, Rilla, I _ don't_. I don't-" he sighs out a frustrated breath, and she can see the tumult of words in him, the way he's struggling to wrangle his thoughts into something coherent. "I can see… that he _ cares _ for you, Rilla," Damien says haltingly, and Rilla's hands still.

"Uh-"

"He cares for you. Strange and impossible as that may seem… a _ monster,_ caring for a human? Nonsense, it should be- it _ should _ be nonsense, and yet- the way he _ looks _ at you, Rilla-"

"Damien," she says, and her cheeks feel very hot. "It's not- I mean, he doesn't- it's not like-"

"The way he looks at you," Damien repeats softly, and then he raises his eyes to meet hers. "The way he looks, when he thinks no one is looking back at him…"

Rilla feels a little pinned, a little breathless. "I saved his life, Damien," she says. "Of course he- he- I mean, he's gotten used to me by now, I bet-"

"That isn't the half of it," Damien says, his brow furrowing thoughtfully. "He… the way he looks at you, Rilla, feels… it feels _ familiar_, and it took me some time to understand why."

Rilla opens her mouth to protest again, but her throat is dry and Damien's face is so- his expression is-

"It is familiar, Rilla," he says, "because I believe he feels as I do."

Her heart stutters, and she sets the bowl down at last, turning towards him. "Damien, no, it's not-"

"I believe…" Damien tilts his head, something strange and distant in his expression for a moment before he raises his eyes to meet her own. "He loves you. He has fallen in love with you, Rilla."

"Don't be ridiculous," Rilla says sharply, but Damien is still wearing that expression of untroubled, soft contemplation.

"If they grow together in the same place, plants often become intertwined, interdependent," he muses. "I think you have… been _ growing_, together." He pauses for a long moment, and Rilla doesn't know what to say enough to justify interrupting the thoughts she can see slowly coalescing in his mind. "I think, perhaps, we all have. Our roots were already woven together, yours and mine, our years of familiarity and light and love… but he has been… _ braiding _ with our stability. He has become… he has become familiar, in his own strange way. The longer he has been here, the more difficult it has become to despise him as I should. It became difficult rather quickly, if I am to speak with complete honesty."

"Damien?"

"I have been playing at denial, my love," he says, and his tone is high and nearly dreamlike. "It does not suit me well, I should think. I have managed every single feeling that has passed through me by telling myself that it was irrelevant in its transience. If I only ever told myself that this strange interlude in our lives was destined to end in the monster's death, or failing that, at least in his return to his so-distant home, it did not matter what I felt in the interim. But now…" he pauses, and his eyes drift towards the door to Arum's room. "Now… something has changed. So slowly, my love, that I did not even see it. Like the brightening of stars in the evening. Like… erosion, a river changing course to one that more suits it. Something has changed."

Damien is still seated on his usual cushion, beside her table, staring at Arum's door. Rilla takes a breath, steps closer, and sinks to sit beside him. "What… what changed, Damien?"

"I do not despise him. I never despised _ him_, only- only what I assumed he was. And now, Rilla, I admit that I… I do not _ want _ him to be gone from our lives."

She-

Rilla is surprised, and she isn't, at the same time. She would never have _ expected _ Damien to say that, but- but looking at him, she can see that it's true, that it's _ been _ true. She can see it in Damien, in the way he looks at Arum, now-

In the way Damien looks at Arum. She blinks, and her breath catches.

"I could not kill him, now," Damien admits. "He spoke of what happened to him, Rilla. He spoke of- of his part in the war, or the part he very nearly took, in the destruction of humankind. He would have _ destroyed _ us, had he been afforded the opportunity, and yet I still- I _still-_"

She reaches a hand out, fingers just barely touching Damien's shoulder. He does not meet her eye, but he does lift his hand to touch her own.

"Still I could not do my duty." He sighs. "It would not have been a slaying. It would have been-" he stops again, swallowing back some discomfort. "It would not have been a slaying. And- and it would not have been my _ duty_, either, I do not think. I am bound to protect the Citadel, but Arum… Arum no more despises us than I do him. He would rather-" Damien's breath catches, and then he continues, "Arum would rather die, I think, than harm you. How… my flower, my heart, how could I possibly despise him? How could I loathe any creature to whom you are beloved?"

"Damien, he doesn't- he doesn't-"

"Denial does not suit you, either, my love," Damien says gently.

Rilla laughs, mostly because she knows that Damien is right. On more than one point.

"Okay," she says softly. "Okay. So… what does that mean, then? You know what I- you know I have to get him home. That's the priority. The rest of it… it's just- it's just _ feelings_, Damien. It doesn't change- it- I just want him to be _ safe_."

"Just feelings," Damien murmurs, with an odd sort of smile.

"I love _ you_, Damien," Rilla says, her voice hot and certain.

Damien blinks, and then his smile blooms, bemused and delighted. He is already touching her hand, so he grips her fingers, drawing them to his mouth so he may kiss her knuckles. "Oh, Rilla… oh my darling, my forever-flower, I would never dream of doubting that." His smile goes gentle, and he kisses her knuckles again, and then presses her palm against his own cheek. "I love you dearly, I love you _always._ But I cannot pretend any longer, my love, that nothing has changed between us. Between _all_ of us."

Rilla has heard Damien say so many things about his heart, about the wild ways it twists and kicks and leaps inside of him. Rilla very rarely understands exactly what he means. Right now, though- her heart takes a line right from one of Damien's poems, and it nosedives like a falcon. "Damien," she says, her throat dry. "I- would never-"

"I love you," Damien says again, softer. "If you would prefer to let these feelings remain unspoken… I will follow your lead." He smiles, almost playful. "He is, after all, _your _ patient."

Damien's tone is so careful, his face so understanding, and Rilla feels her heart slow again. This isn't an accusation. He's not- he's not upset. He's not _angry_, or- or panicking. He's…

Handling this better than she is, apparently. She could almost laugh.

"I don't…" Rilla pauses, swallows, and strokes her thumb across Damien's cheek. "I have to worry about getting him home, first. Whatever- whatever I feel, that can't be a part of the conversation. Not until he's safe."

Damien nods. "I understand," he says. "With one mild correction."

Rilla blinks. "Correction?"

"If that is your decision, a delay in conversation, at least, you must understand, love, that it is not only _ your _ feelings we are placing aside."

"Arum isn't going to say anything about-"

"I meant my own feelings, Rilla."

"Your-" she loses her breath for a moment. “What?”

"Rilla… you are not alone, in wishing to see Lord Arum safe. If you wish to leave the matter as unspoken as that, I will grant you that desire. But I know my own heart. I am _ listening_. And the _ water_, Rilla, the water- my darling Amaryllis, the water delivered him to you. The river carried him, and the lake settled him soft where you would find him. I have _ known _ such waters, my love, and I- I may not understand, but- but the Saints work through _ us_, in this world, and I know… I know…"

"What… what do you know?" she manages to ask, just softly.

"You were _ meant _ to save him. We were _ meant _ to know him."

Rilla's heart stutters again, she exhales in surprise, and when Damien looks at her he _ smiles_. He moves his hand from her cheek, slipping his fingers into her hair, and when he leans close to kiss her she can still feel the smile on his lips.

"We were meant to know him," Damien repeats, soft, "and now we must bring him home."


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A parting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These dang things just keep getting longer, don't they? Also I'm emotional. I'm so fucking emotional. 
> 
> [**EDIT:** I finally went back and split this into two chapters, like it should have been from the start. Whoops!]

Arum insists on coming out to the front room for breakfast the next morning. Saving his strength is all well and good, but if Arum need be confined to that little bed for the _entire_ time between now and their departure, he will certainly not make it that far. Amaryllis was right, that day he attempted escape. At least the view out there is different, and- well. He is comfortable in the room with the cot, by now, but it is far less clinical in Amaryllis' living space. It makes him feel less of a _patient_ and more… more of a guest. Which he should not care about, of course.

Amaryllis relents rather quickly on the subject, provided that he agree to pick a spot and stick to it, until the evening. She is overly concerned with him, not quite _paranoid_ but certainly delving into the territory of what Arum is comfortable referring to as fretting. She scowls when he calls it that, which is gratifying, but it also appears to make her more conscious of how delicate she is being with him, and she rolls her eyes at herself before she helps to lift him to his feet, shuffling slowly out to the table.

Amaryllis and Sir Damien keep their hands clasped between them throughout their breakfast together. Seems _inconvenient,_ Arum thinks, pulling his eyes away from the easy way their fingers interlace. They do not have an overabundance of limbs to _work_ with. Surely they should not impede themselves for such a- a pointless gesture.

They are-

Arum cannot say what, precisely, it is, but he feels as if something is strange between the pair of them. Or- or perhaps that something _had_ been strange, and has now settled. They sit more closely, and something about their proximity feels… easier. Sir Damien, in particular, is more calm, though Amaryllis still has a layer of nervous energy to her.

Of course, Amaryllis is not particularly patient. She does not hold the tension inside of her for long, after they have finished eating.

"So," Amaryllis says, and Arum frowns instantly. "So… Damien is gonna be- coming with us for the trip."

Arum jerks his head to look at the knight, and Damien nods slightly.

"Wh-_why_?" Arum barks.

"Because… because I want to," Damien says quietly, and then he- _smiles_, soft and odd, and Arum remembers Damien's hand on his chin, despite himself, "and because I do not think it would be safe for only the pair of you to take that trip. Too many potential dangers, on _both_ sides. I am certain that Rilla has discussed- ah, potential ways to disguise you, so that you will be in _less_ danger from… knights."

Damien's voice goes soft as well, and Arum can see some strange pain on his face, though Arum cannot say precisely what _that_ indicates. How much separation can this creature feel from his own order?

"But of course that does not mean there will not still be some risk, if…" Damien pauses again. "I would feel better, being there. And… I have my part in this, as well."

"Your _part,_" Arum echoes. "What do you mean, _your part_ in this?"

Damien pauses for a long moment, clearly considering his words.

"I want to see you home and safe as well, Arum. I have… committed this far. I will follow through."

"Committed?" Arum says. "I hardly think this counts as a _ commitment_. You- you have _allowed_ Amaryllis to- you have _denied_ your duty in _slaying_ me-"

Arum cuts himself off with a wince, then glances toward Amaryllis and away again. Damien does not rise to this statement, does not comment or deny.

It is clear, from the mild confusion on Amaryllis' face, that Damien has not told her the precise shape of what passed between the two of them, the previous day. What Arum nearly pushed Sir Damien to do.

"You…" Arum trails off. "Fine. If you should like to come, I do not see what it will _hurt._ I shall be curious to see how _deep_ your treachery runs."

"Arum," Rilla warns.

Arum winces again, then sighs and looks away. "It is not as if I could stop you, anyway."

Damien tilts his head. Arum can see it, in his periphery.

"If it would… _truly_ cause you distress, I would… I would worry rather deeply, but I would stay-"

"I said I could not stop you," Arum repeats in a sharp voice. "It is not as if you _distress_ me, songbird, I simply- I do not understand."

"Yes," Damien says softly. "Well. That is… fair. It is a… somewhat complicated situation, is it not? But- but I will take this journey with you, if you allow me."

"I _said_ I could not stop you, honeysuckle,” Arum growls, and judging by Amaryllis’ breath of laughter his tone must be unconvincing. “If that is your choice, that is your choice."

Damien's mouth curls slightly, a smile vague but pleasant, and Arum can't stand to keep his eyes on the pair of them together, though they keep drawing back, regardless.

"Very well. I will accompany you, then."

Arum huffs, wrinkling his snout. "I am surprised that your Citadel can _spare_ you. I thought you creatures were rather strictly kept."

Damien purses his lips, then sighs. "We are… currently in something of a lull, I suppose. There was a thread our Investigator General intended to pull, but… well… when pulled, the pattern simply unraveled. There was a rash of monster attacks with similar stratagems, but they've dissipated like mist over the last… during the last few…" he trails off, his tone going blank. "The… the last few weeks."

Arum feels the twinge in his frill, knows perfectly well he is giving himself away, but Damien does not turn his eyes towards him, accusatory or otherwise.

The pause draws long, and Amaryllis is clearly hovering on the edge of words herself.

"Well?" Arum snaps, eventually. "Are you going to ask or aren't you? Go ahead, then. I told you I made weapons against your kind. What, precisely, were these consistent _ stratagems _ you were attempting to ferret out?"

"Arum," Rilla says gently, but Arum scowls more deeply as Sir Damien meets his eyes.

“Well, Sir Damien?”

Damien holds his gaze, for a quiet moment. "There were a number of creatures, in short time, utilizing powers of manipulation. Encouraging conflict, stoking self doubt, provoking pain. Assaulting the mind first, in order to more effectively destroy the body."

"Yes," Arum says in a hiss. "Yes, I am certain I created the creatures of which you speak. I cannot imagine any other could have managed to replicate my work."

"The mushrooms," Rilla murmurs, her brow furrowed. "It was- pain. Illusions of things we- things we were afraid of, things that _ hurt _ us."

Arum wishes he could burn the grubs a second time. The look on Amaryllis' face is unbearable, but then she looks up at him, raking her eyes over his face, her expression oddly desperate.

"Yes," he hisses again.

"I…" Damien's face goes mournful as Arum snaps his attention back to the knight. "I cannot say that no harm was done by the creatures, that none were killed. I cannot alleviate your guilt in that way-" Arum scoffs, but he cannot deny, not with the way Damien is looking at him. "But… but I can say that none are doing harm any longer."

Arum looks away, too uncomfortable to pretend otherwise. "If you say so."

"Regardless," Damien continues in a low, measured voice. "As to whether or not I may be spared by the Citadel- while the Investigator General searches for a new loose thread to worry over, the ranks await more specific direction, and-" Damien gives a very small laugh, and the corner of Rilla's mouth pulls into an answering smile. "And I very, very rarely use the time I am granted, for leave. More often than not, I am too worried over the prospect of leaving my fellow knights without assistance. So… none were troubled, that I wished to take my allotted time now, to assist my Rilla."

It is more of an answer than Arum expected. In truth, he had merely been trying to rile the knight again. He huffs out another breath, claws drumming on the table.

"Okay," Rilla says, drawing the word out into more syllables than it requires. "Okay. Uh, that seems settled enough for me, I think. This has been awkward enough for one morning. So, Arum, I, uh-"

She pauses, and Damien squeezes her hand, and Arum hears her breath come steadier, again. She sighs.

"So, I was thinking, we should leave either tomorrow or the day after." She pauses again. "Maybe the day after. You're standing better, and Damien's offered his horse, so- you'll ride, and we'll walk. It'll take longer, but even if we had three horses it probably wouldn't be safe for you to ride at speed anyway, you could jostle something open, or-" She bites her lip. "So. You on the horse, me and Damien walking, and- it'll be slow. What is it, two weeks to your swamp?"

"Something… something to that effect, yes. Though-" he clenches his teeth. "When we are close- we only need reach the border, I think, and we will not need to travel by foot any longer."

"The border. Okay. Okay, and, um, with the route we planned the other day, we should be…" her lips twitch into a smile. "We can do this. We can get you home, and then- ah… I've- I've made up a bunch of extra-"

Her voice- _ cracks _ a little, and some pain crosses her face. Arum blinks. He does not understand why she would be…

"For- um. For after I- for after we-" she pauses, inhaling sharply. "I made up a bunch of extra salves, and painkillers, and- and a replacement wrap, so your horn will- so your horn will keep together, and a new cast that should last until your wrist is healed and- so you won't have to worry… when I'm gone."

Arum stares at her, at the odd twisting of her almost-smile. "Ah."

_ I'm gonna miss him, is the only thing_.

Amaryllis' voice on the recorder had been so _ keening _ and strange, and it had pulled on Arum's heart like his own yearning for the Keep and- and he could not help but believe her. She is … she _ is _ going to miss him. She will feel his absence. Such a terribly strange feeling-

And Arum had been honest, when he told her that he would miss her in return. Though, of course, Arum knows that had not been the whole of it. It is not the whole of it, but he will feel her absence, as well.

"Very…" he swallows. "Very _ forward thinking _ of you," he manages. "I… I had no fears, of course. And all I require is home, regardless. Seems a shame, I think, to make you waste an entire month ferrying me back and then needing to return. Certainly your other patients will be missing you, with your skill."

"Yeah, well, I may be the _ best _ doctor in the Citadel, but I'm not the _ only _ doctor in the Citadel. They'll manage." She smiles again, a little less certainly, and Damien squeezes her hand again.

"Do you _ feel _ ready enough for the trip, Lord Arum?" Damien asks.

Arum hates the way his own heart turns, slowly, like a key in a lock, every time Sir Damien calls him that. It is ridiculous. It is his _ name_, it does not make _ sense_, but- the way his tone curls around _ Lord_, the way _ Arum _ seems to sit at the back of his mouth. _ Lord Arum_. Respectful formality from a _ knight_. It is … strange, that is all. It is _ still _ strange.

"I am… as ready as I shall be," he murmurs. "I cannot afford further delay. My swamp, my _ home_, it… it has been…"

"Without its Lord," Damien finishes, gently.

"Yes. My swamp… and my Keep."

Rilla startles slightly, but Arum… Arum does not know why he has bothered to continue concealing the Keep's existence anyway, and Sir Damien has made it… abundantly clear, that his stance has changed. This stiff-spined little human has shifted his footing, has gained a new vantage, as incomprehensible as that seems.

Damien purses his lips, his face going questioning. "Have you… mentioned a Keep before?" He asks. "Or- no. I think- I think you have only _ nearly _ mentioned a Keep before."

"Perceptive," Arum grumbles, his tone hovering between irritated and impressed. "Yes. My home, my Keep." He pauses. "I have already explained it to Amaryllis, I do not- I do not feel-"

"You need not explain anything to me, Lord Arum. Home is…" he presses a hand over his heart. Arum hears his breath catch. "All creatures should be blessed with shelter, with _ home_. It is…" he pauses again. "I am certain you will be glad to be returned to yours. We shall do all we can, to make that come to pass for you."

"Yes, well…" Arum glances aside, uncomfortable. "The sooner the better." He clasps his claws in front of himself, then glances towards Amaryllis. "The… the day after tomorrow, you said, Amaryllis. If you think I shall require the extra day."

Amaryllis nods, and Arum does not know what they will do in the interim. He had not been planning, truly, to make it this far. And now he has today, and tomorrow, to worry and wonder about this upcoming trip. To worry and wonder, about the softness of Sir Damien's hand on his chin. About the leaping of his own heart, at the gentleness with which the knight had lifted it. About the prospect of Amaryllis _ missing _ him. About all these strange and bitter hungers that have begun to curl within him.

Arum's eyes have found Amaryllis and Sir Damien's clasped hands again, tracking the way that Damien's thumb is brushing soft over the back of it, a slow, comforting rhythm, as Amaryllis' hand squeezes his. Arum's tongue flicks compulsively, and he buries the urge to-

He does not even know. He is not close enough to reach their hands, and what would he do even if he was? Even if he- if he reached out and wrapped his hand around both of their own (his hand is large enough to do so, his fingers longer than theirs, their stubby little mammal things with their blunt nails and their soft brown skin) (Arum knows the softness both of their hands, now), even if he were to do so-

Certainly they would not welcome his intrusion. Certainly not. They are both so eager to see him gone from their lives. And Arum is eager as well, of course, to return to his Keep, to return to his life. He is eager to close the door on this bizarre little chapter-

A lie. Too deep to stand.

He is _ not _ eager to close the door on this chapter. He is not ready. Two days. Two days- only two more days in this strange little hut, in this short-ceilinged human construction, full of herb smell and strange baubles and dangerous plants and skillful wordsmithing and a heretical, compassionate little doctor, and her knight.

Arum has never had a place outside of the Keep before, where he felt himself truly safe. Arum's mind is still… _ halved _ in a strange way, he still feels the absence of the Keep's thoughts at his edges, still feels where the Keep is _ meant _ to fit, where song should shift into… meaning, and affection, and shared memory, and home.

But if Arum could still feel the Keep _ here_, he would be entirely unable to pretend, anymore, that he does not wish there was some way he could stay.

* * *

Arum intends to finish the translation, before they leave. It will not be difficult, all things considered. The tome is short, the material arranged in no particular order but with consistent notation for the entries, and he is familiar enough with a decent amount of the species listed that it speeds the process considerably. He needs not even attempt to scrawl the information out in his slightly more stilted attempt at human script, now that Amaryllis is in the room with him again. She simply sets her recorder beside him and he speaks as he works, occasionally drifting into conversation rather than translation, or narrowing his eyes at a particular peculiarity of the dialect, the drifting etymology of distance.

When he turns the page and sees the Moonlit Hermit, he freezes. After a moment, he drifts his claws down the page, tracing the single narrow line that depicts the flower's stem.

So small a thing, to cause so much trouble.

"The Moonlit Hermit," he murmurs, and Amaryllis drops a roll of bandages, the white ribboning off as it unrolls across her floor.

He raises an eyebrow as she scrambles to retrieve the roll, laughing awkwardly, and when she straightens she won't meet his eyes for a long moment.

"Amaryllis?"

"Just- forgot that one was in there too."

He tilts his head. "Why does it matter? What is the Hermit to you, then?" he asks, because if the Universe insists on piercing him through to make a point-

"My- my parents were researching it. It was a big _ part _ of their research, actually- the Hermit, what it could do- the potential it had-"

Arum frowns, automatically, remembering the particular results he had pulled from the _ potential _ of the Hermit in his possession.

"I've- I've been trying to… to find one," she says, her voice gone small, and Arum forces himself not to stare at her, at the longing on her face. He looks to the book, instead.

"I am afraid there is very little on the subject in this particular volume, Amaryllis," he says, gently, and she sighs.

"That… yeah, I kind of expected that. I couldn't _ read _ it, but- I could tell the entry was short. Shorter than most of the other ones, at least."

"It mentions the unnatural fragility of the stem," he murmurs, tracing his claw along the lettering. "Five pale petals, the glow of moonless night, the utter incongruity… hm," he traces the shape of the drawing on the paper again, remembering. "Volumes of this sort so rarely bother to note the sounds. It chimes, as well, at contact or in use. It is not the most beautiful song I have ever heard, but… it suits. Cool, and delicate."

He realizes, after a pause, that Amaryllis is staring at him. He pulls his eyes from the book, wary at her uncertain gaze.

"What?"

"You… you've heard it? You've- you've _ seen _ one. Arum- Arum, you've seen a Moonlit Hermit?" She sets her medical bag aside, her packing entirely forgotten. "Arum, _ please_, you have to tell me where I can- how- I _ have _ to see it. I have to- to-"

His heart sinks, the hope in her voice too unfortunate to stand. "If it still existed, Amaryllis… I would certainly think it fair payment for the service you have provided me, but- it was destroyed." He pauses, sighs. "I destroyed it."

"You-" she looks too stunned to be properly furious, but Arum suspects that will come soon enough. "_ What_?"

"Those who attacked me," he says softly, "desired to take it for themselves. To use it. Just as I had been using it, of course, to create weapons against your kind." He pauses, exhales. "I wish I could say, Amaryllis, that it had been a choice made of morality, but- I did not yet know you. I- there are many things I did not yet know, when I…" he traces the shape of the petals again, one, two, three, four, five, and his lip curls in an almost smile. "I ensured that our meeting occurred in daylight, as insurance. It was easy enough, when I realized I had been betrayed, to lift so fragile a thing into the light."

"Arum-"

"Spite. I destroyed the Hermit in _ spite_, Amaryllis, because I knew they intended to kill me, and I did not want to give them the satisfaction of beating me, as well. Of taking what I rightfully found. I threw myself into the river for the sake of that same spite. I would rather drown than let them slit my throat, so…"

She is touching his shoulder, now. He does not look at her.

"I do not regret my actions. The Hermit could have… would have done some good, in _ your _ hands, of that I am certain, but… I am glad it was destroyed, rather than be misused again. Rather than being twisted to further bloodshed."

Her hand on his shoulder lifts, and she almost touches his face. Almost. He keeps his eyes safely away.

After a breath, she drops the hand, and turns, and returns to her packing. Arum feels his stomach twisting, regret and shame, fear, desire, all of it colliding together within him like a collapsing building, but still he does not look. He breathes and breathes until he is certain that his voice will not shake, and then he turns the page, and resumes his translation.

* * *

It feels as if Arum simply blinks, and two full days have passed. Sir Damien wakes before dawn, and Arum, his nerves sharp and heightened, wakes at his careful noise, at the click of the door behind him as he goes outside to run through his routine.

Amaryllis wakes not long after, throwing together a quick sort of breakfast and quietly going through a checklist of their supplies before she comes to, in theory, wake him.

She smiles, clearly unsurprised when she finds him already awake, already digging his claws into the sheets, and the smile stays as she helps him to his feet.

She wraps him in layers. A simple strategy, but simplicity is more reliable than the delicacy of complication, in Arum's experience. He keeps the cape on beneath the rest, and she smiles when she is done wrapping the rest around him. He can see the crooked shape of it through the sheer scarf covering his face.

And then, for the first time since he woke in Amaryllis’ hut, he steps outside.

Arum does not want to look back, to acknowledge the finality of walking away from this hut, of stepping up into the saddle and riding away from this shelter, riding back towards his true home.

He does not wish to look back.

Rather- he wishes that he did not want to.

He turns despite himself as Amaryllis adjusts the robes that hide his scales, ensuring that his tail is hidden as he curls it around his own ankle. He does not mean to, but he turns, and-

It looks so much smaller, from the outside. Squat and friendly and warm, with flowering vines curling familiar across trellises and a clean little herb garden and the mossy stump where Damien likes to sit and compose when he is finished with his exercises, and the curtained window Arum knows the shape of so terribly well, from the other side.

So many days. So very long, he has spent in such a small, strange space. And now-

He cannot imagine that he will ever see it again.

Arum is almost grateful for the ridiculous layers. At least neither of the humans can see the way his face twists, as his heart lurches with the grief of parting.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A homecoming.
> 
> [edited to split from the previous chapter]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you see chapter fourteen SHOULD have been two chapters from the start but i was stubborn and sleep deprived and stuffed all of it into one thing and i recently found the 'manage chapters' button so!!! i'm fixing it!!!! nothing else is changing except the back half of ch fourteen is HERE now and everything else shifted forward. SORRY FOR THE CONFUSION WHOOPS.
> 
> Chapter specific warnings for an explicit threat of violence, not carried through with.

They travel light; there’s not much they need to take with them. Rilla keeps her medical bag, of course, in case of emergencies or in case the traveling impedes Arum’s recovery in some way, along with her bag of extra supplies she's gonna leave with him when they get him back home. Damien pretty much just has his armor, his bow, and his usual traveling supplies: bedroll, rations, canteen, et cetera. Arum has nothing to bring, obviously. Nothing except for his mended cape, which he wraps secure around his shoulders beneath the rest of his mild disguise. Rilla covered him in strategic layers, scarves and shawls and large loose pants that collectively obscure his form and face as he sits sideways in the saddle of Damien’s horse, who only required minimal acclimating to adjust to the weight of a monster. Currently, Arum looks enough like an excessively ill person swaddled like an infant, or like a particularly old-fashioned noble, and hopefully they won't need to do much by the way of explanation on the less-traveled roads they intend to use.

It's slow going, of course. Anything more than the lightest movement could be a risk for Arum; jostling around on top of a horse isn't exactly healthy for healing stab and slash wounds, obviously.

Every time they pass another group, Damien looks like he’s about to be sick, face twisting in a completely unconvincing smile and his voice going high and reedy if he tries to greet them. Rilla does most of the talking, for a change, and Arum sits tense and stiff and dignified astride the horse, and occasionally nods through his scarves at whomever happens to be passing by.

Nights are more difficult. They need to wander far from the road to set up camp, and they need to obscure the fire on one side to make it more difficult to see from where they came, to avoid other eyes, and they wait until it is safely dark every night before Arum can remove his layers of disguise and sigh in the open air again. He always keeps his cape safely draped around his shoulders after the rest has been left in a pile nearby, a claw curled along the edge of the fabric as he settles close and warm by the fire.

He’s _ tired_, Rilla can tell. The travel on top of his recovery, and the constant strain of worry that comes from the threat of discovery- it’s no wonder, really. She wishes she could make this easier for him, wishes she could just snap her fingers and have him home to his Keep, but- this is the best she can do, for now. She’ll get him home, long way around or no.

* * *

"Sir Damien."

They are preparing to resume their travel in the morning, Damien packing the last of their supplies back up from their makeshift camp while Rilla tends to Damien's horse, and Arum is wrapped already in his layers as they wait for Rilla to return, to help Arum back into the saddle for the day. Damien glances down at the obscured monster, lips pursing nervously, but he does not think the monster is looking back at him. It is difficult to tell, with the layers, but Damien thinks that Arum is looking towards Rilla again.

"Yes, Lord Arum?"

He continues to stare for a moment, and then Arum glances away. His voice comes even quieter, then. "We are still close to your Citadel, little knight," he murmurs. "There is still time between us and my home, and many opportunities for this expedition to fall apart."

"Pessimism will not _ help _ the situation, Lord Arum," Damien says mildly.

"Perhaps not. But pragmatism-" he pauses, then sighs. "If the worst is to happen, if I am discovered along this mad little journey... Amaryllis must not be seen as guilty for helping a monster. I refuse to have her suffer for this absurd kindness."

Damien pauses, his heart doing a swooping little flip, and he looks at Arum again in disbelief. "What-"

"If we are discovered, they must believe that I _forced_ her to treat me, forced her to escort me home. They must believe that she was made to do it, that I threatened or coerced or- she must not be seen a traitor for _my_ sake. Do you understand me, Sir Damien?"

Damien presses a hand over his heart, presses as hard as the thudding pressing out. He forces his breath to come steady enough for words, just for one sentence. "Rilla would not be happy, with that particular deception," he rasps, looking at his fiance through the rosy morning light.

"That," Arum says with a growl, "is precisely why I am asking _you,_ and not the doctor herself. I trust that you will protect her. I _ know _ that you will."

Damien wishes so dearly that he could see the monster's face, just now. That he could see the look in his violet eyes.

"Honeysuckle," Arum says quietly, roughly. "Tell me that I am correct."

"This- this is not like the other day, is it? This is not more of the same, again, more of you trying to- to-"

"This is not an act of self destruction, honeysuckle." Arum stares up at him, or at least, Damien assumes that he does, beneath the cloth. "But she _ must _ be safe."

Damien inhales, exhales, inhales.

"Rilla would never forgive me, if I caused you to be hurt in her stead. You must know that, Lord Arum."

The monster clenches his hands, his head ducking just slightly. "It is more important that she be _ alive, _ to forgive you or not." He turns his head a little further away, then, his voice going even quieter. "Of course she will forgive you, little fool. She _ loves _ you."

Damien's throat goes tight and hot and uncomfortable, his heart thrumming and thrumming, and the words boil within him but he cannot say-

_ Do you think I do not know that you love her as well? Can you not see that she loves you in return? _

His lips part, he is going to say something too foolish for their unspoken understanding to survive, but-

Rilla turns at the edge of the clearing, leading the horse back towards them.

Arum's shoulders go stiff, and before she rejoins them he mutters, "I must trust that you will do what is _ right, _ Sir Damien."

Damien breathes slow, summoning tranquility as best he can, listening to the drumming of his own heart, and he knows that he will. He will do what is right, even if that is not the same as what Arum has asked of him.

* * *

Rilla is fairly bored on the road. She can't read effectively while walking, and they only have the one horse. She can only glean so much amusement out of cataloging the wildlife as they pass it by, but Damien knows her far too well to let her boredom sit. He starts reciting as they travel, spinning stories, sharing newer compositions, weaving tales in the air between them, accompanied by jungle noises and the hum of insects.

Rilla sings, as well, when Damien's poor voice needs a rest, and she pretends not to notice when she starts a song and Arum stiffens in recognition. Pretends even harder not to notice when he hums along, when he harmonizes in his low, careful voice. She pretends, poorly, not to grin in delight, the smile tipping her singing voice even brighter.

If she didn't feel like she was riding off to break her own stupid, stupid heart, this would be the most fun she's had on a trip in _ ages_.

* * *

Unnatural quiet in the jungle dark, and Sir Damien comes awake with the fingers of one hand already gripped on his bow, a strange and familiar rushing in his ears.

He remembers where he is without strain. He can feel the dirt beneath him through the bedroll, can feel Rilla close beside him, can hear her breathing light.

He can hear little else besides. A stillness hangs in the night air, and Damien _ feels _ it. He feels attack waiting, can taste tension on the air. He can almost hear the source. Almost.

Damien breathes slow. Panic is a faraway thing, just now. A faraway thing that cannot possibly touch him. The rushing in his ears goes slowly rhythmic, and Damien waits, Damien waits, Damien _ waits _ for the precise moment. For the strike. For his parry.

His heart. Rilla's breath. The rustle of leaf and soil. The padding, just low, of _ paws. _ Damien tenses, poised and prepared and waiting, waiting for just the right moment-

"If you take one… single… step… closer," says a low, guttural, growling voice, and Sir Damien realizes after a startled breath that he recognizes it. He recognizes the voice, because it belongs to Lord Arum, though it has been pitched dangerous as it echoes strange and placeless among the trees. "If you take just one more step… I will make a meal of your entrails while you still live."

There is a pause. A stillness deeper, even, than the one which came before it.

"Do not test me," Arum continues, dark and certain. "These creatures are not _ yours _ to hunt."

Another pause. Slowly, slowly, the sense of danger recedes. The night noises of the jungle resume in its absence, the whine of insects and the rustle of small creatures, and Damien knows they are safe again.

Damien has never heard Lord Arum sound quite like that, before. Dark. Dangerous. _ Protective. _ And Damien does not feel an _ ounce _ of fear, at that voice, though his heart is thudding hot.

_ Not yours to hunt. _

Not _ yours, _ he said. Does that mean, then, that Arum considers them _his_?

Another long pause draws out in the darkness as Damien tries to shake the memory of Arum's voice, as he feels the gooseflesh shiver across his skin, and then there is a noise, shifting close by.

"You are awake, aren't you, honeysuckle?"

Arum's voice no longer sounds strange. It no longer echoes oddly, and the venom is gone from it, leaving the monster sounding only soft, murmuring through the black of night.

"Yes," Damien whispers.

"I did not intend to wake you," Arum hisses.

"You did not," Damien says, just as low. "I… I felt that something was wrong. I woke before you… scared the creature away. Will it return, do you think?"

"Certainly not," Arum drawls, gently. "We are close to my territory now, little songbird, and I know the sorts of scavengers that prowl my borders. I know a coward when I smell one," he hisses. "She expected an easy meal. That, we most certainly are not. She will not try again."

"How…" Damien needs to pause, to swallow. "How did you know I was awake?"

"Your breathing shifted… your heartbeat. I can hear them both from here."

It is difficult, for Damien, not to feel exposed, knowing that. He feels certain that his heart is still beating hard. Harder, now.

"And… and did you slip into the trees, to frighten the creature away? I will be compelled to tell Rilla if you exerted yourself while she slept-"

"I did not budge an inch, honeysuckle. Don't be foolish."

Damien blinks, for all the good it does him. The bare hint of stars between the canopy above flickers, just for a moment. "But- but your voice, Arum," he murmurs, and when Arum chuckles low Damien can feel heat pooling odd in his stomach. "You sounded as if…"

"As if I could be _ anywhere_," Arum murmurs, and his voice echoes again, placeless, but close and worrying. "Yes … I told you, honeysuckle, that I had _ some _ skill, some tricks up my sleeves…"

Even more worrying than Arum's voice itself: the way the low heat of it makes the answering heat in Damien's stomach _ pulse_.

"A-Arum," Damien whispers, and he releases his grip on his bow, reaching into the dark instead, grasping in the direction of Arum's voice during those few words where he had sounded ordinary again. "Where… where are you?"

There is a brief pause, a more gentle laugh in the dark.

"I am close enough to pluck you, still, little honeysuckle," he says in a rumble that rolls down Damien's spine, and he cannot help the way his breath catches, his eyes darting in the darkness as he tries to pin Arum's place. "Have no fear." Another laugh, even warmer. "Unless… unless my proximity _ is _ what worries you, of course."

"Arum," Damien breathes, reaching his hand our further.

"I'm here," Arum hisses. "I forget the limitations of your senses. I can see you, blue as you are in the starlight. Can you truly not see me?"

"I…" Damien swallows roughly, feeling Rilla warm beside him, feeling the coolness of the dirt beneath him, knowing that this monster is somewhere, so close by, watching him through the dark. Damien shakes his head, testing.

"How interesting," Arum murmurs, and his voice still bounces strange, as if it could be coming from the whole of the jungle itself.

A pause drags out, then, and Damien grasps, feeling across the scattered leaves, towards where Arum's bedroll should be.

Arum's hand intercepts his own, and when the monster laughs soft, he sounds only close, only ordinary again. "I told you, honeysuckle. I am here."

"Arum," Damien whispers, the texture of scales so strange against his palm, and Arum pulls his hand closer, touching it to- to his cheek, Damien imagines, and he can feel the rumbling of his throat and the rumbling of his voice as he speaks again.

"I did not budge an inch," he hisses again, and Damien can _ feel _ him speaking, even as his voice echoes in the canopy above.

Damien can barely focus on the fascination he feels at that, though, because the reality of Arum's face in his hand- the reality of the monster laying so close beside them in the dark- it is twisting so- so-

So pleasantly, within him. Damien's mouth has gone dry.

"Go back to sleep, honeysuckle," Arum murmurs, his voice gone quiet and normal again, and he squeezes Damien's hand as he moves it away from his face. "Go back to sleep. We are safe, I assure you."

Damien believes him instantly. Damien believed him the first time, when he insisted the other monster would not return. He knows that they are safe, that the three of them together are more dangerous than anything the wilds could possibly assail them with.

"Are you certain?" he asks again, regardless, because he knows that Arum can _ hear _his racing heart, and certainly he requires this excuse for the pounding rhythm, and for the way he has not pulled his hand away from Arum's.

Arum has not pulled his hand away, either.

"We are safe," Arum repeats in a hiss. "I promise. Go back to sleep, Damien."

Damien squeezes his eyes shut, despite the dark, hoping that Arum is no longer looking at his face, that he cannot see Damien's expression in the dark.

Damien pretends that he has forgotten their hands, clasped together. He steadies his own breathing, pretends not to feel his own heat permeating Arum's hand, and-

And Arum does not pull his hand away, either.

Arum does not pull his hand away. Not before Damien falls back asleep in truth, at least.

* * *

The rumors are true, apparently.

They can see it in the distance when they round the crest of a hill, a gap in the canopy of trees above the road giving them a decent look towards the swamp in the distance that apparently serves as Arum’s home.

The swamp that is also, apparently, _ creeping outward_.

They can see outcroppings of new-grown swamp greenery that stands out among the wider jungle, pushing past the usual border between the two, and even at this distance Rilla can see the speckling of purple from the blooms that give the swamp its name as well, and from this perspective the growth looks like curling fingers, reaching out.

Searching, Rilla thinks. A desperate hand, combing through the jungle to look for the missing ruler currently bundled up on the horse behind her. She glances back towards him, and even hidden behind the layers of cloth she can see the tension in his frame, can feel the impatient energy radiating from him.

“Almost there,” she says, and he tilts his head down towards her with a sharp breath. “Not much farther, now.”

He nods, and then hesitates for only a moment before his eagerness gets the better of him.

“If one of those- those outgrowths is close enough, we should aim for it. We may be afforded a shortcut. Save further time,” he hisses quietly, and that’s pretty _confusing_ but Rilla nods in response. He knows this place better than she does, after all.

Damien holds his own tongue for a moment before he points out one in particular, a vivid purple growth curling out, and quietly suggests a path they could take in that direction, a smaller road that should take them close.

Arum grows more and more agitated as they make their approach, and they all notice at the same moment that the outgrowths aren't the only strange thing about the swamp's border, nor are they the only new growth. She understands belatedly why the border was so easy to see from a distance-

There is a wall. The foliage on the edge is tightly packed, unnaturally so, the trees interwoven with newer saplings and quick vines, an enormous wicker boundary spotted with bright splotches of poisonous plants (Rilla can tell, even at this distance). Arum picks up a low growl, compulsive and continuous, and Rilla clenches her hands tight but she doesn't warn him against the noise. She doubts any other humans would be coming this close while the swamp is doing… _ whatever _ this is, and honestly, she can't blame him for the distress.

He's practically snarling to himself by the time they reach the border, his tail thrashing noticeably beneath his layers, and Rilla's stomach gives a sympathetic twist as Damien carefully, carefully helps Arum lower himself from the saddle.

"Okay," Rilla says. "Obviously this is… less than ideal."

"An _ understatement_, Amaryllis. _ Look _ at- look at this! What- what could it possibly-" he gestures sharply towards the wall, then hisses in pain and draws the limb back to himself.

Damien makes a worried noise, an arm still supporting the monster as he fidgets, growling low, and then he eyes the wall with a considering look. "Hm. _ Perhaps I will close the borders entirely_," Damien murmurs, and Rilla doesn't understand his words _ or _ his tone until he looks to Arum again. "I think you said that, when I asked what you intended to do when you returned home. It seems that others had similar thoughts in your absence, Lord Arum."

Arum scoffs, then gently pushes himself from Damien's grip, standing straighter on his own, stiff and strained. "Foolishness. Ridiculous," he mutters as he starts to pull the layers off, unwinding scarves from his neck. "All this will do is draw undue attention-"

The sound of wings above compels Damien to draw his bow instantly, and his eyes dart to the foliage above more quickly than Rilla can follow, fixing on the source, the wide wingspan and gleaming threat of talons as they descend, and Damien's stance tightens, drawing the string more taut-

"Wait- _ stop_-"

At Arum's choking cry Damien's poise falters, his aim going wide, the arrow finding purchase in the wicker wall instead of the quickly dropping- _ thing_-

Arum tears the hood from his head, tears the last of the layers off beside his cape, his frill flaring and a grin curving his mouth, and he makes a strange warbling call, clear and loud and near to birdsong, and the wings above startle, fluttering sharp, and then there is an answering cry before the shape descends even faster.

"Arum-"

"Lord A-"

Arum nearly falls as the feathered shape collides with him, but he _laughs_ as he makes more of those strange noises, and Rilla finally manages to parse exactly what the hell just _ happened_, because an enormous heron is perched, shuffling from one taloned foot to the other on Arum's shoulders, shoving its beaked face into Arum's horns and squawking in a way that sounds both irritable and excited.

"Yes- foolish thing," Arum breaks into another laugh, and then he warbles as he lifts a hand to gently push the beaked face from pecking at the edge of his frill. "Obviously. Of course I did. Of _ course _ I did, you little- did you doubt? No-" he trills again, bright, and the heron ruffles up and makes a chuffing noise. "Of course I did," Arum says again, gentler, tapping the bird softly beneath the beak, and then he seems to remember Rilla and Damien, still watching.

Rilla's breathing hasn't entirely slowed from the shock, yet, but she smiles as she watches him, and Damien stands close beside her, stowing his bow again and pressing a hand over his mouth to bury his own smile, and Arum's frill ruffles by his neck at their observation.

"Er-"

"A friend?" Rilla asks, an eyebrow raising.

"One of my- my subjects, I suppose you could say," Arum murmurs, and he can't seem to help the smile as the bird presses its head into his horns again, trilling sternly. "Yes, I know. Hush." He gives the bird an equally stern look despite his simultaneous laugh, and then he lifts an arm for the creature to step to. "I know," he says quietly. "But you are _ frightening _ the horse, and I would rather not be _ kicked_, little creature. I am nearly mended once, I would not like to suffer recovery a second time. Find your flock, spread the word if you must."

The bird squawks irritably, aiming its beak towards the humans for a moment before it turns back to Arum and flaps its wings.

"I _ said _ find your flock," he says in a low, fond growl. "Go on, you ridiculous thing. You need not worry for me. Go on."

The bird shifts from foot to foot on Arum's arm, chattering lightly, and then it pecks at the tip of Arum's snout and flaps before it lifts off, flying back up into the canopy again, singing something loud and joyous as it goes.

Arum sighs, his shoulders sagging as the weight of the creature leaves him, but he clearly can't bury his smile. Damien takes Rilla's hand, and then they both come closer, and Rilla lifts her other hand to touch the monster's elbow.

"Seemed excited to see you," she says, her tone only _ barely _ teasing, and his smile is so entirely warm, and Rilla and Damien's hands tighten together, each squeezing at the same moment.

"Yes, well," he makes a rattling noise low in his chest, still smiling. "I imagine they will all be quite ready for the swamp to return to _ normal_."

"What do we do, then, about the wall?" Damien asks, gently, and Arum's smile flickers off.

He frowns, eyeing the woven greenery, and then he grumbles, "Bring me closer. It should still answer… it _ should _ still… still be able to hear."

Rilla doesn't exactly understand what that means, but- she figures he knows what to do in this situation better than she does, anyway, so she helps him. After a step or two Damien steps up on his other side, supporting him further.

"Thank you," Arum murmurs when they are close enough, and then he very gently pulls away from their grasp. He lifts his hand, and just barely touches the tangle of foliage, and then he swallows, chest rumbling. "Keep?"

Rilla barely manages to stop herself from reaching for him again. He sounds so- so desperate, and the urge to help him is-

"Keep. Can you hear me?" He pauses, and Rilla can see that he's trying not to cringe as he runs his hand along the vines. "Keep, I'm here, I- I need you to let me in."

Nothing changes, for a long moment. Beside her, Damien reaches a hand out, gripping Rilla's hand tight again, his nerves mirroring her own.

"Keep," he says again, keening clear in his voice. "Keep, please-"

Arum stumbles back as vines burst from the ground, new and accompanied by harmonious song, overtaking the wall and forming an archway that fills with magic, with- with a _ door_, leading somewhere quite different from the swamp they could see past the wall.

Arum chokes a breath, warbles in further harmony with the song, and on shaking legs he bolts through the archway.

The Keep winds its vines around him so quickly that they lift him into the air before his feet even touch the floor of his home, before he has time to even breathe a syllable. It sings bright and clear and joyful, and it slots its mind soft against his again, precisely as their minds are _ meant _ to fit, in tune again so instantly that the vines don’t even come close to accidentally brushing any of the healing wounds that might still suffer from the pressure, and Arum can’t help the way he chokes, the way his throat goes tight and his eyes go hot, because-

He has missed his Keep so, so unbearably much.

He was never meant to be away for this long. His limbs shake with the relief of it even as he clings to its supportive vines, as he brushes his palms over the new bursts of flowers it gleefully blooms around him. He’s so tightly enmeshed, so thoroughly cocooned, he wouldn’t have even noticed Amaryllis and Damien following through the portal if he could not _ feel _ the precise moment the Keep notices them.

The Keep notices them, and it is filled instantly with _ terror_.

It winds the humans tight in vines nearly as quickly as it lifted Arum, though these new vines are substantially less friendly as they pin Amaryllis and Damien against the wall with a discordant trill.

Arum feels the Keep's wash of terror pulse through with confusion, fury, protectiveness, and the vines around the humans tighten. Arum’s heart skips, and he scrambles, reaching a hand through the bramble around him towards his- his- whatever, precisely, they are to him.

“_Stop_-” he snarls, the full force of his denial pushing out into his home, compelling the Keep to pause. The vines cease tightening, though they do not release. “Don’t hurt- don’t hurt them. They did not harm me, Keep, of that I can assure you,” he says in a breathless rush. “They did not harm me. They- they-”

The Keep stills, feeling his thoughts, and its grip upon the humans instantly loosens. Arum needs not say more; the Keep understands him. It understands, and it loves him, and he needs not say a single word more.

He will say it anyway. It is true.

“They brought me back to you,” he says, his voice ragged and too full, and they stare at him as the Keep lowers them gently back to the floor. “They brought me home.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The humans take a very truncated tour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOY I'M CUTTIN IT CLOSE THIS WEEK. WORLD GOT ME DOWN, SORRY FAM. I'm RUSHING through to post please forgive any formatting weirdness or typos and also forgive the fact that this chapter is a bit shorter than the last few have been. haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

The Keep releases the humans, and it settles Arum back on his feet as well, warbling a song that blends confusion and warmth and a number of other feelings that bleed through their link, almost overwhelming after Arum has spent so long with only his own emotions to process.

Damien rubs his wrists with a strange, unreadable look on his face, but Amaryllis is still holding one of the vines, gently pulling it close enough to examine, her eyes wide. Neither reaction sets Arum at ease, but he supposes that this was not the warmest of welcomes for them, all things considered.

He-

Arum does not know what to do, now that he is home, and they are here with him.

“So,” Amaryllis says, releasing the vine as he draws closer to them. “This is your… Keep?”

“I… it… yes, yes, this is the Keep,” he says, and the moss is soft and familiar between his clawed toes. “My Keep is… I told you we are meant to protect each other. It thought- it did not know you were not a threat, and it has not seen- it has been without-”

“You’ve been away for a long time,” she says gently, and Arum hates the way his heart lurches for her easy words. “Must be nice to be home.”

“I imagine that is quite the understatement,” Damien says softly, though he is not looking at either of them, and Arum laughs, very lightly.

“Indeed. Keep, I-”

He feels the Keep observing, feels the way it is parsing his own emotions and the way it is observing the humans as well, and it is somewhat like seeing the pair of them again, for the first time. It is distracting, though not unpleasant.

The Keep sings, and Arum watches the way that Amaryllis’ eyes light up with curiosity.

“So, I get that it’s _alive_, but- you can talk to it?”

It hums around them, answering for itself, and Arum can’t help his smile.

“We speak, yes.”

Amaryllis opens her mouth, clearly to ask another question, to continue to chase this new mystery, but she pauses. Her eyes narrow, and then she tilts her head.

“You- huh. You’re standing more easily. Are you- hang on.” She reaches a hand towards him and Arum tilts his head, and when her fingers brush the edge of his frill he clenches his teeth together to keep from making some _noise_ at the contact. “That looks- the tissue is- is the Keep _healing_ you?” she asks, sounding both impressed and a little- irritated, perhaps?

“What?” Damien says, finally looking towards them again, and Arum stiffens at their combined scrutiny, standing a little straighter. “What do you- oh.”

“Oh?” Arum echoes.

“You look- Rilla, have his scales taken on- more color?”

“I think so, actually. Arum-”

“I _told_ you,” he growls. “Our connection is difficult to explain.”

“But it’s _healing_ you. You’re already better than you were a few _minutes_ ago.”

“Of course I am. We- we help each other. We protect each other.”

Rilla, strangely, looks _ furious _ now. “If you told me it could make you better in _ minutes_, we would have tried to bring you home a hell of a lot faster, Arum!”

“It- it is not _instantaneous_, and it did not seem like something you would _believe_, Amaryllis.”

“Maybe not at first, Arum, but you’ve been healing like a damned glacier and you could have been better so much _faster_ if you just _told_ me-”

Arum finds that he is smiling. He is reminded with a pang that he will _ miss _ this, miss her arguments and her fire, miss the soft tension of passing time with Sir Damien as well, and the smile abruptly flickers off. He swallows, looking away.

“I apologize, then,” he says, and Rilla’s argument comes to a halt. “Believe that if there was any way I thought I could have come back to my Keep any faster, I certainly would have.”

She opens her mouth, then sighs and smiles wryly.

“I suppose this accounts for the escape attempts, then,” Damien murmurs, and Arum chokes on a laugh.

“Quite. Not, I now admit, that I could possibly have gotten here on my own in that state.”

“Stubborn,” Rilla mutters, and when Damien raises a pointed eyebrow at her she scowls harder.

Damien tilts his head away, burying his smile before he laughs at her irritation, and then he meets Arum’s eyes. He looks- wary, still.

“So… we have delivered you back to where you belong,” he says, tone deceptively light. He pauses for a moment, but neither Arum nor Amaryllis interrupt him. It is too clear that his thought is unfinished. “What… what happens now, Lord Arum?”

Arum’s body tenses, his stance going entirely stiff. He glances towards Amaryllis, who appears precisely as unsure about the question as Arum feels. _ What happens now_, as if Arum had ever truly expected to return home, as if he had _ planned _ for this. He had not expected, in his heart, to ever return to the Keep, let alone to do so with these strange, strange humans in tow. Or- with them towing _ him_.

"I…" Arum swallows, feels his tail curling anxiously, and the Keep drifts vines out to touch his shoulders, to steady him. "I suppose… I am- certain that the both of you must be… eager to return home, as well," he murmurs, turning his face away. "But- but it is… late in the day, now. It would make little sense for you to set out again without rest, only to make camp in an hour or so." He pauses for a moment, still not looking at them as he flicks his tongue, and he can practically taste tension hanging in the air, theirs and his own. "I would… it would be wisest for the both of you to stay the night. If you will."

"You… you wouldn't mind letting us stay?" Amaryllis asks quietly, and Arum scoffs.

"I have been imposing on your hospitality for so long a time now that I've entirely lost _ track_, Amaryllis," he growls. "One night at the very least will not make the slightest impact on my own." He pauses. "If you can stand to sleep within a monster structure, of course."

"Your… your Keep will not mind our presence, either?"

This next question from Damien, and Arum glances their way again, raising an eyebrow as the Keep sings its answer, decisively closing the portal behind them at last. Arum notes with no small measure of surprise that neither of the humans appear unsettled, that their escape route has vanished.

"Its sense of hospitality is far more developed than my own," he mutters. "I doubt very much it could be convinced to allow you to leave without at _ least _ providing you a meal."

Amaryllis smiles. "Does the Keep cook, then, or do I finally get to see _ your _ theoretical culinary skills?"

Arum shoots the doctor a glare, puffing up his chest as he growls. "I assure you, Amaryllis, that you will see that my _ culinary skills _ are completely and entirely," he pauses, "adequate."

Amaryllis blinks, and then bursts into laughter, her entire body jolting with it as she leans against Damien, who is pursing his lips together tight, his eyes sparkling with his own barely suppressed mirth.

Arum is glad that they are too caught in the amusement to look at him, for only a few moments. He does not like to think what they will see on his face, if they look at him right now. Their joy, bubbling bright within his home-

It is overwhelming.

"Keep," he says before they've entirely recovered, looking away. "Open the way, if you would."

Amaryllis stops laughing as the doorway opens again, the noises of chiming and insects and life drifting lazily through the passage, and her eyes light with curiosity, as Arum had hoped they would.

"It seems… appropriate, that I should show you my home, as you showed me yours, does it not?"

"A tour?" she says, raising an eyebrow, and Arum snorts. "Sure, sounds fun, actually."

"What… what is through there?" Sir Damien asks, his own curiosity mitigated rather obviously by his nerves.

"The room I believe Amaryllis will take the greatest interest in," he says with a shrug. "I did not think the impatient creature should like to wait."

"Okay, fair," Rilla says with a grin. "But now you _ have _ to tell me."

Arum barely manages to suppress another laugh. "Come, then, you ridiculous creature. Let me show you my greenhouse."

  
  


* * *

  
  


There's just so _ much_, is the thing. So much _ life_, so many plants and fungi that Rilla has either needed to pay out the nose for, scrabble tooth and nail to find on her own, has only seen in sketches, or didn't even believe existed at _ all_, before. It's like a dream, honestly. If Arum hadn't already told her about the Hermit (a bittersweet sting, that memory- she can't help but be disappointed that the flower was destroyed, but the fact that he trusted her enough to _ tell _ her is- interesting evidence), she would have it in the back of her mind anyway, half expecting it to be hidden here, among so many other impossible specimens.

The space is enormous- the Keep itself must be _ huge_, the size of a town, maybe, and it would probably take her _ weeks _ to see everything that Arum has in his collection.

Longer, actually, because his collection is exactly as organized as the swamp outside. She's beginning to see where he was coming from, exactly, with his complaints about her own organizational systems.

"So that's the pond you were talking about, for keeping the Jungle Flame from causing trouble?"

Arum and Damien have been drifting behind her, Arum tapping a surprising degree of patience as she bolts from wonder to wonder, and now he nods, his lip turning wryly.

"I may still, despite the strategy you shared. One cannot be too cautious with fire, within a structure such as this."

"No, that makes sense," she says, tilting her head at the pond, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "And the Keep can just- grow an island, there?"

"The Keep is the entirety of this place. It shifts and changes as it is needed."

"That… sounds really cool, actually. Huh."

There is _ so much_, so much to see, to investigate. She could get lost in here, metaphorically speaking. She could just keep finding more and more fascinating things to ask Arum about, more answers to questions she's had penned into the margins of countless journals.

And it's good, she thinks, to have something here to focus on, besides Arum himself. He's so _ vibrant_, now. She didn't realize, all this time, how washed out his injuries had made him, how much he had been muted by pain and recovery. Here, with the Keep performing whatever magic it needs to help him stand easy again, he gleams as glossy as the plants he keeps, he practically _ thrums _ with relief and joy, and Rilla-

Rilla's throat hurts, just a bit, because she knows that she won't have any excuse not to leave, when morning comes.

She sinks to kneel, feeling the soft dirt and moss beneath her knees, cool and real and distracting, and she pulls out her recorder.

One more little mystery. Just one more little problem to solve, before she admits to herself that she still doesn't have an answer to the problems that really matter.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Amaryllis is deeply, deeply engrossed with her recorder beside a pair of symbiotically growing plants when Arum realizes that Sir Damien is staring at _ him_, now, instead of at the doctor.

"I apologize, honeysuckle," he says, raising his eyebrow.

Damien blinks. "Apologize? For- for what, precisely?"

"This has been a rather single-minded _ tour_, as Amaryllis put it. We have indulged her curiosities, but I cannot imagine that you share the depth of her interest in my collection of flora."

"Ah," he says, his lip pulling into a surprised smile. "Perhaps not, but- you need not apologize." He turns his gaze towards Amaryllis, then, his smile going gentle. "Her delight is precisely as my own. And besides, it is not as if I expected that we should arrive to your home and you would _ entertain _ me, Lord Arum. I did not expect _ serenades_."

Arum chokes a laugh, his tail curling behind him, and-

A thought.

"Not… not serenades, of course," Arum murmurs, and Damien's attention flicks back towards him, curious. "But- perhaps there _ is _ something that may interest you." He pauses, and after a moment Damien gestures for him to continue. "I do have a small library. Nothing particularly impressive, and the majority of my volumes will be unreadable to you, but- would you like- rather, I could show you. If you would like."

Damien stares at him for a moment, lips parted, and then he smiles and Arum bites down the rattle that wants to shake in his chest.

"That- yes, that would be- I would be delighted."

"Excellent," Arum says, and then he looks away, his eyes returning helplessly towards Amaryllis for a moment. "Though- she does not seem keen to be pulled away, just yet."

Damien's smile goes soft again, and he shakes his head. "Perhaps not. Just a moment, Arum."

Damien steps closer to his- to Amaryllis, leaning down to murmur something by her ear as she kneels by the flora, and she does not look up from the plant, though Arum sees her mouth move in response, and the focus on her face softens for only a moment when Damien leans the last inch closer to place a kiss at her temple before he straightens and returns to join Arum.

"I told her we would not be long," he explains, and then he makes a rather unnecessarily elegant gesture with his hand.

Rather trusting, Arum thinks, to be so willing to leave Amaryllis alone and unprotected in Arum's Keep. If they meant her harm-

"Right. Right, then." Arum clears his throat. "Keep, the scroll room, if you would?"

Damien watches the vines grow to create the portal with that same mixed trepidation and fascination, but he does not hesitate to step through after Arum, and his eyes widen slightly as he takes in the room.

Amaryllis would call it _ disorganized_, certainly, but such chaos does not trouble Arum. As he said, his library is not _ impressive _ by any standards. Literature is not among his more passionate interests, but former Keep-Lords have certainly gathered enough over the Keep's long, long life to amass a decent collection.

"There- oh, so many of these look- positively _ ancient_, Arum," Damien murmurs, lifting a hand but not daring to touch the case of one of the more rare scrolls.

"They _ are _ ancient," Arum drawls. "Most of them, anyway. I have added very little to the proceedings, so most of the texts predate my own lifespan. Hence the age. The Keep maintains the air in this space in such a way that it preserves the more delicate parchment. You may examine whatever you like on the shelf on the far wall, however. Those volumes are newer, more sturdy, and if I remember correctly there should be one or two that are written in the human script."

Damien looks bemused for a moment. "You have texts written by humans?"

"Information is information, honeysuckle," Arum says with a shrug, and Damien purses his lips in consideration before he nods, stepping towards the indicated shelf to peruse.

While he is so engrossed, Arum need not force himself to avert his gaze. Damien's focus is… intense. Distracting. It is difficult for Arum, to pull his eyes away. For the moment he does not bother.

"Ah-" Damien laughs very lightly. "It seems you already _ had _ a primer in human poetry before we met, Lord Arum," Damien says, running his fingers lightly across the spine of a book and slipping it from the shelf. "I know this poet. She wrote of the Saints, primarily."

Arum clenches his teeth, feeling his frill flutter. "There is little coherency to the collection, little songbird. I could not possibly say how such a work made its way into my hands." He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at the book as Damien opens it and flips through. "I remember that one, yes." He sneers. "I should apologize, I think, that I cannot provide you more stimulating material to peruse."

"What?" Damien lifts his head. "What do you- mean?"

Arum shrugs, a little aggressively. "I am aware that my collection is _ limited_, honeysuckle. I may have a collection of poetry or two, but I do not possess any volumes of the quality that our doctor shared with me."

"The- the quality?"

"The tome you are holding is rather _ dry _ by comparison, I should say," he inhales, hisses a breath, looks away, mutters, "it does not compare. It will not stick in your mind like … like…" he trails off, and- well. The words come almost too easily. "_The paper of the lantern will not rise without the flame,_" he breathes, pretending not to feel his frill rising higher at his neck, "_And so ascended I, alight and burning when you came_." Arum pauses a long moment, then, feeling the odd way those words curl on his tongue, the way they make him _ feel_, the sympathetic heat they kindle behind the cage of his ribs, and then he exhales again. "Yes. I do not think I shall forget those words, as I have forgotten so many of the dusty poems I have been storing _ here_."

He pauses again, and Sir Damien does not speak. Arum notices, then, that the knight's heart is beating rather quickly, and when he looks to Damien again he presses the book tight against his chest, his lips parting in clear surprise.

"What?" Arum grumbles, thrown by the sudden intensity in Damien's expression, by the heavy tension he can taste on the air. "What, honeysuckle? I have already admitted that your species is… somewhat skilled, in such arts. I will not say so again."

"N-no, I- it is simply that- I- well, you- you read- you _ read_-" he stammers off, losing words entirely for a long moment.

"I read nearly everything Amaryllis provided me in that little basket of hers. Why? What does it matter?" He projects a sneer. "Again, I already told you. Human poetry is not- it is not entirely disagreeable."

"But you read- you read _ my _ poe-"

Arum blinks, and stares down at Damien as the poet swallows his words, and Arum's stomach drops in something like panic.

"Those- that- those were… _ your _ words?"

"I, ah- yes, I-"

"She stuck them in the basket with the rest," Arum barks, tail thrashing. "She did not _ mention _ that- that they were- that they were _ private_-"

"Not-" Damien bursts into a breath of uncomfortable laughter, and Arum barely resists an urge to either bolt from the room or- or to sway closer to the human, instead. "They are not _ private_, not precisely, but- that was from a… a collection, verses written for my- for Rilla. Poetry that my flower inspired, with her brilliance and beauty."

Damien's dark cheeks are darker, now, flushed, and he is looking at the shelf of volumes, away from Arum, and Arum-

More words drift back to him. More phrases, warm and fond, enraptured- _ sensual_, at times, and-

It is no wonder, then, that every line of verse on those pages reminded Arum of her. Of the pair of them. It is no wonder at all, that he had not even noticed Amaryllis enter the room as he read, because her presence was in the room before her, in the words themselves.

_ Unconsumed, enlightened, and by your heat unfurled _

_ Together, hand in hand, we rose, and made more gold the world. _

Arum clenches his own hands, his palms tingling. He should have known, that those words were meant for the love between these two humans. He thinks of their hands, intertwined with such ease. He thinks of the invitation of Amaryllis' palm, and her gentle invocation of _ we_. He thinks of his little songbird, grasping unseeing in the night, how he settled when Arum took his hand in claws.

He feels what Damien penned. He feels himself a paper lantern. Fragile, and untethered, and close to burning.

"I… I should have… I should have known," He murmurs, and Damien glances towards him again. "Should have recognized your voice upon the page, I think."

"They- many were not-" he pauses, bites his lip, and smiles very cautiously. "You… you enjoyed them? Truly?"

Arum breathes a helpless laugh. "You are a beautiful poet, honeysuckle," he says, and when Damien flushes darker he- winces, glancing away. "Rather- I meant, of course, that your _ poetry _ is- not that-"

"It is… it is quite alright, Lord Arum," Damien says. "I thank you for the compliment."

Damien tucks the book of less relevant poetry back onto the shelf, his cheeks still dark as he scans his eyes across the various monster scripts, and Arum clenches his hands.

Beautiful, he thinks again, and there is something almost vicious about it.

"If there is nothing else here that interests you, honeysuckle, we should return to the greenhouse," he mutters.

Damien looks towards him, his eyes flicking oddly across Arum's face for a moment before he looks aside. "Yes," he says softly. "I suppose we should do our best to draw Rilla back to us from her newest puzzle."

_ Back to us_.

He did not mean that.

Arum clenches his hands again, pushes the desire down inside of himself, and summons the way back to the greenhouse.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Arum leaves them briefly, before dinner, so they can finally change out of their travel clothes and scrub off the dust of the road in the Keep's large, strange washroom, and after Damien lowers a hand to help Rilla lift herself out from the large tub (or, perhaps, small indoor pond) made from one enormous waxy leaf, she keeps hold of his hand, pulling him in close so she can throw her arms around his shoulders.

"R-Rilla-"

"Just-" she squeezes him, pressing her face into his neck and sighing there. "One sec. Need- need something that feels normal and real just for- _ one _ second."

"Oh… oh Rilla," he strokes a hand down her braid, holding her in return, feeling her breathe softly against his skin. "You know I will always, always hold you, if you ask." He smiles very gently, a laugh in his tone as he continues, "If we were not required to bother ourselves with such mundanities as food and work and rest, I would never let you go."

"That too," she mumbles. "The talking, I mean."

"I suppose I speak at such length that my voice must be as familiar and ordinary as-"

"I love you, Damien," she murmurs, clinging more tightly. "Th-thank you."

Damien's breath catches, his center burning with the sweet shock of it, the way he is never quite used to hearing her say those words. He presses his lips to her hair, to her temple, and he rocks gently on his heels, swaying them together.

"I love you, Amaryllis. I am grateful that I could be at your side along this journey, as I wish to be for the rest of our lives."

"We got him home," she says, her tone a worrying waver.

"So we did," he answers gently. "You've done _ so _ much, my love. You saved him. Now all you need do is rest."

"No-" she shakes her head, pulling back slightly so she can meet his eye with a grimace. "No, I _ can't _ because I still- Damien, I thought we would get here and I would know what I should _ do_, but- but he's home, we _ brought _ him home and he's _ safe _ and he's going to really, _ really _ heal and I still don't know what to-"

"Rilla…"

"And he thinks we're just _ desperate _ to get away from him, doesn't he? He'll let us stay the night and then- and then what, Damien? We just- _ leave _ and go back home and pretend like- like none of this happened? Pretend like I can go back to thinking about monsters the way I used to? Pretend I never- pretend that I'm not going to- to miss him, that I don't-"

She cuts off, inhales sharply, closes her eyes and clenches her teeth.

"Rilla," Damien murmurs, and he cups her cheek as she shudders out another breath. "It's alright."

"It's _ not_-"

"It is, my love." Damien manages a smile when she opens her eyes again, scowling at him, and it feels bittersweet on his lips. "You said our feelings could not be part of this discussion until Arum was safe again. He _is_. He is safe, now, and I think you need to speak your own heart, my Rilla. I think you need to say it."

She stares at him, and fear looks so very strange on his beloved. He brushes his thumb across her cheek, his other hand resting at her waist, and he waits. He is more patient than his love; she may take however long she needs.

"I… Damien, I love him," she says. "I _ do_, I love the way he always seems surprised when he laughs, I love his stupid sense of pride and the way he always gestures with his hands even if it hurts his wrist, I love how clever he is and how he cares _ so much _ even if he pretends not to, and I love the way he- he mutters in his sleep and- and when he actually _ smiles _ I just want to- to-"

"To take him in your arms," Damien murmurs, and Rilla laughs.

"Yeah. _ Yeah_. Exactly. And- and I don't know how I … I don't know how it happened, Damien, and I didn't- I didn't _ mean _ to, but- but I do." She looks down, looks away, wincing again. "I love him."

Damien cannot tear his eyes away from her. He would not be capable of the feat if this place collapsed around him entirely. She is-

Fear does not suit his beloved. Love, however, she wears with such beauty and ease that Damien can hardly breathe for the sight of it.

He lifts his other hand, cupping her face, rising to brush his lips over hers, as delicately as he is able.

"I know," he says. "I know, and I know _ how_, as well. It is … rather obvious, in retrospect. You spent every day with him for months, my love. I am unsurprised that you would see the beauty in each other, that you would learn each other, _ know _ each other. You are… the both of you are so entirely brilliant, so clever and stubborn and lovely and fierce…"

Rilla exhales half a laugh. "Damien."

"You fell for him slowly, my darling flower. I told you- I believe you grew _ together_. And I … well. I was not beside the both of you for all of that time. I was distant, in the beginning, both in truth and in feeling, and it took time for me to understand that when I looked at him, I saw… some_one_, rather than some _ thing_. I imagined so much _ evil _ in him, and- I could laugh, now, at my stubbornness, the way I twisted him in my mind, to suit my expectations…" he trails off, shakes his head. "What I mean to say, Rilla, is that I was slower to join you, yes. I was slower to follow you, but-" he thinks his smile has gone sheepish, now. Not quite embarrassment, but the awareness of his own nature making him feel wry. "I think we both know that when I fall, it is a rather quick plunge, my love."

Her eyes flick between his own, not quite disbelieving. "You… you said, before, you said _ feelings_, Damien, but- really?"

"Rilla… my darling, my forever-flower, I know that I told you I would- defer to your choices, that I would allow you to set the pace, allow you to choose what would remain said and what would remain unsaid, between the three of us." He swallows, drops his hands from her cheeks to her shoulders. "But- but I am not built to keep feelings _ within_, my Rilla. Every time he looks at me- every time he smiles I feel the waves crashing within me- the dam has nearly broken so many times already- so many moments I looked at him and longed to say…"

He closes his eyes, feeling helpless and awash, but he inhales slowly and the emotion settles, still swelling large within him, but easier, now. Softer.

"He makes me feel… he makes me feel like you do, Rilla. I look at him… his eyes, so sharp and clever, his strong tail, his claws- his _ hands_, so shockingly gentle …" he breathes something like a laugh. "Loving you, my Rilla, is always so overwhelming. Merely being in your presence is enough to make my heart swell, and race, and _ beg_, and your absence causes me such aching that I feel I could die from it. Already I felt so deeply- so powerfully-" He pauses, laughs again. "I felt so full of love … how could I possibly have anticipated that I was capable of further depth of feeling? My heart, full to bursting already- I did not realize that my heart is not a _ cup_, is not some fragile thing wherein I hold my love for you, that jitters and sloshes when I am overwhelmed, when I falter in my tranquility and take, again, to thrashing. Rilla, my heart is not a cup, it does not merely _ hold_. My heart is a spring, is a _ source_, is ever-flowing, without limit. I love you, my Amaryllis, my flower. I love you _ forever_."

Rilla stares, her cheeks flushed dark, her eyes shining. "And you love him, too."

"I do," he says, gentle and certain.

"And he…" she inhales, exhales, and her brow furrows. "I know he feels something for us, too," she says quietly. "I can't say for sure that it's- it's _ that_, but I know he feels _ something_. I didn't want to think about it, I didn't want to make it all even _ more _ complicated, but- but I'm not stupid and- and honestly he's not exactly _ subtle_."

Damien laughs, in surprise more than humor. "That, he is not," he says, and then he pulls his lip into a wry smile. "Rilla… I will still hold my tongue, if you _ truly _ think it is best, but … I think- I think, my love, that we could find a way, if we tried. That we could all, perhaps, be happy. That we could have what we wanted." He pauses, bites his lip. "What… what, exactly, _ do _ you want, my Rilla? I know how you _ feel_, but what do you want?"

"I…" she laughs, presses a hand over her mouth. "I want- I don't want him out of our lives, at least. I don't want- I can't stand the thought that we'll leave tomorrow and never see him again, I just can't-"

"Rilla, my heart… I did not ask what you are afraid of." He strokes a hand across her hair, soft, soothing. "Please. Tell me what you _ want_."

"I want… I want to know," she admits, leaning into his arms. "I do. I want to know if he feels the same. If- if he loves us too. And-" she laughs, "and I want to kiss him, if he'll let me."

"Yes," Damien says through his own laughter. "Quite." He tightens his embrace for a moment, crowding close against Rilla until she laughs again. "I suppose it is good to know that we feel the same in that, as well."


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A confrontation, of sorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a long time, huh? I'd say I'm sorry but I don't want to make my friends sad by being overly critical of myself. It's rough right now, not gonna lie. We're all doing our best. I hope this chapter will do at least a little bit to make up a little bit of softness. Be safe. I love you.

On the balcony outside his workshop, Arum draws his claws through the air, plucking invisible threads, his intent aligning with that of his Keep to play the swamp beneath them like a harp.

Unweaving the new border surrounding his home is not a difficult task. In fact, it is of an appropriate delicacy that Arum can utilize it as a sort of test, as a way to measure how much he has fallen out of practice.

The boundary softens slowly beneath them, each branch and vine relaxing, relenting, returning to its former growth, and Arum can feel the Keep relaxing as well, as the reality of Arum's homecoming settles within them both.

When they have managed perhaps a third of the border, the Keep tugs at the edges of his mind, and Arum could argue, could try to push the Keep to continue the work for a little while longer-

But he is tired, in truth. The journey, the quickened healing, the- the depth of emotion that rushed through him when reunited with his Keep, all have left him feeling shaky and faded. The borders have been like this for some time now, he reasons. He need not rush.

Besides, he thinks, his lip curling wryly, Amaryllis would surely give him that narrowed-eye look if she knew he tried to push himself so soon after coming home. He cannot risk the force of her stubbornness combining with that of the Keep. Arum buries a laugh at the thought, sighs instead, and steps back in from the balcony to his workshop.

The Keep sings softly as he reaches to pull down a familiar set of knives, as he straps the hilts on again, feeling them more as a talisman than a defense.

"I know," he murmurs, drawing his palms over the hilts by turns. "I would apologize, but-"

The Keep sings less softly, then. Arum laughs.

"Precisely. I did not think you would." He pauses, feeling the safety and familiarity surrounding him. "Keep," he says, very softly, and then he closes his eyes and tries to pour out the affection that coils within him, how deeply he missed his Keep, how warm and relieved his love. It is easier, this way, to let the Keep know how he feels. Words- between the two of them words do not always feel right. He is the Keep's Lord, its Creation, and he may brush their minds together as easily as reaching out to take a hand. He knows his Keep can feel it, his pulse of love, and he feels it brighten before it twines him again in vines, before the rush of love and contentment the Keep sends him in return nearly folds his legs with its fierceness.

It sings, closer to a lullaby than a message, cradling him like the safest of hatchlings, and Arum pretends not to rub his eyes again, allowing himself to be held for a minute or so more before he squeezes one of the vines around him, silently signaling to be let back down.

"Yes, well," he mutters, tail flicking as the Keep gives a vague hum. "There is still much to be done, I imagine. Bring me down to the kitchens; I expect they will be hungry soon."

The Keep pauses, then, and lilts an alternative.

He chokes a laugh. "Oh, fine. Do as you will, then. I expect they will be grateful, anyway." He tilts his head, worrying the edge of his mended cape in one hand as the Keep sings an affirmative, slowly coiling a different doorway out of the floor. "I- yes. If they are waiting, then. Go ahead."

The Keep lets him out into the greenhouse, drifting its attention away to prepare a proper meal for its Lord and his guests, and Arum-

Arum sees them, Amaryllis and Damien seated together on the mossy bark of a fallen tree, all four of their hands intertwined in their laps, their heads ducked close together as they murmur something unknowable to each other, and when Amaryllis' jaw clenches, Damien lifts a hand, cups her cheek, and then gently brushes an errant curl back behind her ear as her expression softens again.

Arum's own hands tremble, but he shakes his head hard and forces himself to approach, ensuring that his footsteps are too loud to miss for even their limited human hearing.

The both of them startle as they hear his steps, leaning back to watch him, though they do not untangle their hands.

"I hope you have been amusing yourselves well enough in my absence," he says, feigning mildness, but his attempt at levity does not seem to work. Amaryllis glances to Damien, something silent passing between them before she stands, Damien standing a moment later.

"Arum," Amaryllis begins, gently, and Arum's scales shiver with nerves automatically. Her tone is… serious, which is both unusual and concerning.

He forces himself not to flinch in a visible way as he meets her eyes, noting the gentle curve of her frown, the tension in the way she still holds one of Sir Damien's hands, and he narrows his eyes, ducking his head slightly. "What… what is it, Amaryllis?"

He can feel it already. They've decided to leave tonight. Decided that staying in a monster's _den_ is too much. He should have expected-

"I have a- a question, actually," she says, and then she bites her lip. "And I need to know- I wanna know that you're gonna be- that you'll answer honestly."

"What call would I have to lie to you?" Arum says, more surprised than insulted. "You have already seen me at my lowest, Amaryllis." He pauses, then snorts. "And Sir Damien has rather helpfully pointed out that he is perfectly able to discern when I attempt deception."

Damien's lip turns into a wry sort of frown, but he does not interrupt. Clearly, Amaryllis is leading this charge. She worries her lip between her blunt white teeth for a moment, her frame radiating strange tension. More concerning still. He is unsure if he has ever seen Amaryllis display this sort of- _nervousness_, before.

"Well?" Arum says when the pause draws long. "Ask, doctor. You won't get your answer in silence, I can assure you of that. I have many talents, but reading human minds is not among them."

"How do you- feel about me," she blurts, her tone going breathless and weak on the latter half, and Arum chokes on his own breath in surprise.

"Wh-what?"

"I know we said- we talked about what happens _after_. And about trust and about- about _we_ and- and how we're going to miss each other, but- but I still don't know if…" she sucks in a breath, wincing and glancing away, and Arum sees Sir Damien's hand squeeze her own, and after a moment her shoulders settle slightly from their tension, and she meets his terrified eyes again. "I don't know if you feel like I do. Mind reading isn't in my wheelhouse either, Arum, and- and I just want to know. Before we- before we _leave_. I need to know if we feel the same way about each other, or if-"

"Amaryllis, I- don't be absurd." Arum can feel himself panic, can feel a distant buzz of confusion from the Keep as it senses his spiking distress, and he skips back an awkward half step as Amaryllis reaches a hand towards him. "You know that I am- am impossibly grateful for all you've done-"

She winces at that, too. She draws her hand back to cover her mouth, and then she shakes her head. "Is that- is it just that you feel- _grateful_? Just- still the same way it was when you tried to leave that last time- just- _thank you for services rendered, such as they were_? Is that all that it is? Is that all that you feel about me?"

Arum looks away. "I think you know perfectly well that that is not even remotely the extent of- of-" he breaks off, not knowing any safe way to complete that thought. "I think you _know_."

"That's-" her face splits into something that is not a smile, if only because of the way her eyes are wide and strange and _sad_. "I _don't_ know, Arum. That's kind of the whole _problem_. I need to know how you feel about me because if I don't _know_ then I can't do anything about it."

Arum goes still, panic easing into something calmer, more cruel.

"_Do_ anything about it," he echoes. "You feel you would need to _do_ something about it, were our feelings misaligned? If I do not _feel_ as you hope I do? If I have- _overstepped_, if the depth of my emotion has infringed on _his_ claim?"

Amaryllis blinks, and then she glances where Arum has pointed, towards a Damien who appears equally puzzled by Arum's words. "Wait, _what_?"

"Have no _fear_, little human," Arum growls, his tail coiling behind him in a threat. "I have no misapprehensions about what we are. I have no _delusions_ about what has passed between us. A kindness and a mercy, both, but nothing more."

"_What_?" she says again, and then she releases Sir Damien's hand and tries, again, to step closer. "Wait, no, that's not-"

Arum snarls, and Rilla pauses, her hand outstretched in the air between them.

"I will be forever indebted to you, Amaryllis of Exile," he says, forcing his voice low and steady. "Indebted to your _knight_ as well, as infuriating as that detail remains. But I will not be mocked in my own home. You have shown me kindness and mercy beyond what I deserve, certainly, but that does not free you to treat me cruelly in turn."

"Cruel-"

"In the morning, the both of you will leave, and if the Universe is _kind_ we will never need see each other again. Do you not think it _cruel_, then, to draw that grief out? To force our focus upon it?"

"But if we just _talk_ about it, we might not n-"

"I know I have made myself a fool," Arum spits, and then- he wilts, his shoulders sagging. "I would do so again, I think. But I will not abide you holding my foolishness to the light."

"Arum-"

He turns, the softness in her eyes too utterly unbearable. "I am… I am tired, Amaryllis. The Keep will bring the both of you food in short time. When you are tired, ask for a place to rest and it will provide one. In the morning it will open a way back to the edge of the swamp. Farewell."

"No- wait," Amaryllis says behind him, her tone sharp, almost _scared_. "_No_. Wait- I am _not_ saying goodbye to you yet-"

"Keep," Arum says, voice flat and toneless. "Back to the workshop. Now."

There is a pause before the Keep obeys, but it is short. Arum relents to the pain behind his ribcage only barely, only enough to glance over his shoulder one more time. Amaryllis looks caught between misery and fury, looks half tempted to bolt after him, and Sir Damien- Sir Damien looks stiff, unreadable.

"Farewell," he says again, more quietly, and then he turns away.

He is only a step from the doorway when Sir Damien's voice rings out behind him.

"Lord Arum!"

Arum clenches his teeth. He should ignore the knight entirely. He has said his goodbyes. He has closed this chapter with his own hands. He has reshelved the book.

"Lord Arum, I demand you face me, now. I will not condone so cowardly a retreat."

Arum spins on his heel, exhaling a sharp shocked laugh. "_Cowardly_\- how you _dare_ is beyond-"

"I see you are armed, now, Lord Arum," Damien says, his voice rather carefully even. "Armed, and healed, and there is still a duel you owe me. I would see that challenge fulfilled."

"The duel?" Arum wrinkles his snout, bares his teeth. "I should _laugh_. I am an artist with my blades, but even _I_ could not best an _archer_ with weapons meant for closer quarters than these."

"I still carry the weapon you sharpened for me; I imagine it should prove a reasonable match to your own steel. I would see our duel fulfilled," he says again, "blade to blade."

Arum scoffs. "A meager tool you use, but it would suffice. Do you wish to _die_, knight? Or have you finally remembered your duty?"

"You will you duel me, then?" Damien asks, insistent, ignoring Arum's questions.

"Oh," Arum says, something between a snarl and a bitter laugh in his tone. "Oh, so _now_ the little honeysuckle means to kill me? _Now_ you are amenable to-"

"I have no intentions of the sort," Damien says smoothly. "But you said yourself that you did not prefer to leave matters _unsettled_, and this matter remains so, between us. I believe you need be reminded of that."

"_Ha_," Arum snarls. "Unsettled. It would not be _unsettled_ if you did your _duty_-"

"You conceded to my skill in wordplay, friend lizard," Damien says, his cheeks dark and his smile soft. "I am curious to see who will triumph in swordplay."

Arum narrows his eyes, and some combination of reckless despair and curiosity compels him to draw his own blade, at last, in response.

"Very well, little fool. Keep," Arum snarls, though his eyes are still fixed on Damien. "Close the door, and then back as you were. I _command_ that you do not interfere. This duel will be _mine_ and mine alone, no matter which fate the Universe intends for me."

"Thank you," Damien says as the Keep closes the way again with visible reluctance, and Arum growls low, tail coiling as he brandishes the blade.

"Okay this is _stupid_," Amaryllis says, stern though her voice wavers, but Damien smiles, and he lifts a hand in her direction.

"Trust, my love. I will beg you to trust me. You know my heart, do you not?"

Rilla presses her lips together tight, her eyes meeting Damien's for a long, torturous moment, and then she gives a small grim smile and nods. "I do."

"How precious," Arum drawls, dancing his knife between his fingers. "You _wanted_ this duel, Damien. Now _fight_ me."

"As you say, Lord Arum," Damien says, closing his eyes with an utterly strange smile. "I am Tranquil, and I am ready. Face me as you will."

Arum coils, tense, for a long moment, feeling out Damien's steady, waiting stance, but the knight is more patient than he. Arum strikes first, a wild lunge meant to unsettle Damien's footing, but Damien is unmoved as their blades clash, and then he deftly steps sideways as Arum lunges again.

"A fine opening," the knight says mildly, as if they were discussing something so simple as the day's meal. "I was correct to think that your reverence for the blade would translate to a certain deftness with this sort of comba-"

Arum lashes out, interrupting with a snarl, but Damien's smile flashes brighter as he parries.

"Even in _this_ you lilt, little songbird?" Arum complains. Only a few moves in he feels slightly warm, breathless- he has not exerted himself in this way in _ages_. Even with his body healing properly under the Keep's influence, Arum is stretching muscles he has not had cause to use in quite some time.

Arum struggles not to find the feeling _exhilarating_.

"I have a _talent_ for prattling, Lord Arum, as I have been told again and again." Damien grins wide, flicking his wrist out to clash against Arum's next strike. "If you compel me to silence it will be a feat indeed."

"We shall _see_, little knight."

"So we shall," Damien murmurs, and they are- _close_, but Arum shoves and Damien spins away, stance defensive to await the next attack. "There is another matter still unsettled, however, more important than my own lilting tongue."

Arum struggles not to roll his eyes. "It is always _something_ with you creatures, isn't it?"

"You failed to answer Rilla's question. Perhaps you thought your deflection sufficient-" he pauses to leap as Arum strikes with his tail, his footwork elegant enough to be repurposed for a dance. "Sufficient," he continues, "to distract from that fact, but I would have you answer, before you give your farewells."

"They have already been _given_, knight-"

"And _yet_," Damien says. His cheeks are dark, but Arum can hear the steadiness of his breath. He has barely begun to exert himself. "Prematurely removing yourself from us will not change how you feel, Lord Arum. Nor will it change how _we_ feel."

Arum manages not to stumble, but only barely. He flicks his blade up just in time to keep the knight from pinning him, ducking low and rolling beneath Damien's arm. "I am- _perfectly aware_ that I am incapable of changing your _feelings_, knight," he snarls, keeping low and defensive as Damien circles him.

Damien's expression softens, oddly. "You cannot change how we feel _now_," he says. "I am unsure if you understand, however, the degree to which you already have."

Arum leaps, nearly catching Damien's arm with the tip of his blade, but the knight sidesteps with a sliver of space between his skin and the edge.

"Arum, you cannot-"

Arum snarls, striking before Damien fully manages his footing again, but he cannot seem to unbalance the knight.

"_Arum_, you cannot conceal how you look at her, and I know you must- you _must_ be able to see how she looks at _you_-"

Arum's scales shiver with a flash of cold, these words more than the risk to his life filling him with terror. "I _see_," he spits, tail thrashing and frill flared. "Of _course_. Insulted on behalf of your lover, of course. I remember- I remember quite early on I implied your Amaryllis might have grown some ill-placed fondness for me and you nearly killed me for that _alone_. Of course this- yes. Little knight, you must, of course, defend your _Rilla's_ honor against so foul a beast as I."

Damien laughs, bright and oddly keening as he dodges another blow. "I should hate to contradict a Lord, but I am afraid you are as far from the mark as you could hope to be. She is _radiant_. Rilla is light and love herself, she is brilliance and glory and she is _made_ to be adored. Of course you would feel that glow, of _course_ you would." He _smiles_, shocking and full of heat, and Arum hates himself for the way his ribs seem to clench around his heart like sharp cold fingers. "And you, Lord Arum, _you_-"

"And I am a _monster_," Arum hisses, and his next strike is _sloppy_ with despair, and the edge of Damien's blade catches against the curved base of his own, and the knight flicks his wrist so deftly, so easily-

The knife flies aside, gleaming steel painting the air in flashes before it thuds to rest on the mossy floor of the greenhouse, and the blade Sir Damien wields presses cool and sharp against Arum's throat in the same instant.

They pant, for a long moment, and Damien stands so close that Arum can nearly taste the heat of him, his gentle eyes bright and focused on Arum's own.

"Well?" he breathes after the pause has drawn long. "Do it, then."

"Do you still believe, truly, that I have any desire to harm you?" Damien says, his tone lilting like song, and Arum's heart clenches again.

"Your knife certainly seems to say so," he growls.

"I told you, Arum. I only wished to _remind_ you. Once, yes, I swore I would slay you, when we finally dueled. This I admit. But I am not the same man I was, so short a time ago."

Arum laughs, choking and desperate, the steel still tickling his neck.

"I have won this duel," Damien says gently. "I would have you answer me honestly, now."

Arum swallows, clenches his teeth. "Ask, then. Ask, and be done with it."

"Do you-" Damien pauses, a layer of his smooth confidence shifting aside, a hint of nerves showing through. "Would you- want us to stay? If we could, if- if we were not pressed by responsibility, would you have us stay?"

Arum would have expected nearly any other question, before the one Sir Damien has posed. He expected one _particular_ question, first. He cannot remember how to breathe, for a moment, and the nervous tilt to Damien's smile makes him wish to lean _forward_, despite the knife, and-

And Arum's lips part, but there are no words upon his tongue.

Damien waits, though. In his periphery, Arum can see Amaryllis waiting as well, a hand pressed to her mouth.

"If-" Arum pauses, swallows, flicks his tongue. "If it were possible. If you could."

Damien's eyes are so bright they are nearly hypnotic, and his own lips part, now, though he does not interrupt.

"I only wish to see you gone," Arum admits, helpless and hopeless and keening, "because it feels like breaking again, to know you cannot stay. The faster the break-" he chokes, and looks away, and he knows his voice is breaking too, "the cleaner it will be."

"If we offered you anything you desired from us, what would you ask?" Damien asks, his voice low and steady, though Arum can feel his heart still thudding hard.

"I- I have answered one question already, honeysuckle, I do not-"

"You conceded to me in two contests, Lord Arum. I believe two questions is a fair exchange."

Arum snorts. "_Fair_-"

"What would you ask of us," Damien repeats, firm, "if we offered to grant you anything that was in our power to give?"

Arum presses his lips together tight, his throat thick and his eyes hot. "Anything?" he asks, his voice catching ragged, snarling, _monstrous_, but Damien only smiles even more gently.

"Anything."

"If… if I could have anything," Arum whispers, claws clenching, and then he closes his eyes. His pride is such a small thing to lose, in the end. "A place at your table," he says, soft and full of undeniable longing. "A place for me, seated at your sides, for as long as you would have me."

Damien's grip loosens, and when Arum blinks his eyes back open Damien's own eyes are wide and shocked, his cheeks darkening as his heart stumbles. Arum can hear that heart, can hear the way Damien swallows, then, as well.

"Oh," Damien says, too soft. "Oh, Saint Damien, your Tranquility, now when most I need-" he inhales, exhales with a smile, and then he drops the knife away from Arum's throat.

"Wh-what are you-"

Damien holds the blade out, hilt first, and presses it into Arum's palm.

"There is one more question before you," Damien murmurs as Arum's fingers curl around the metal, and though he no longer pins the monster against the trunk of the tree behind him, the poet is still close, still crowds Arum with his heat and his scent and the rhythm of his heart. "I would hear your answer under no duress, if you choose to share it"

Damien is so utterly unafraid of his blade in Arum's hands, the gleaming, newly sharpened edge that he holds close against Damien's collarbone. He looks up into Arum's eyes, something in his expression nearly _shy_, and Arum-

Arum-

Arum drops his hand, slipping the knife back into the sheath at Sir Damien's hip. Damien's breath catches again, his dark cheeks going even darker, but Arum can only spare a hint of attention to that while he steels himself, while he clenches his teeth and inhales and lifts his head to look over Sir Damien's shoulder, to see Amaryllis where she stands.

Amaryllis stares at the both of them, her dark eyes wide, her hands clasped over her mouth, and-

Arum is not brave. He has never been. But Arum remembers every single time this creature before him has reached out her hand to him, despite _every_ reason not to.

... and Arum thinks that perhaps he can pretend to share even an ounce of the bravery she has shown him.

"I love you," he says, and there is a lightness that comes as the syllables escape him, a freedom that makes him feel reckless, and as Amaryllis' stares at him with something like awe shining on her face, his mouth curls into a smile. "I have for some time, now," he murmurs. "I love you, and meeting eyes with death was a small price to pay for the honor of knowing you."

Arum cannot suppress the smile, the feeling of freedom here between honesty and consequence. He cannot seem to suppress the tears in his eyes, either.

He manages to pull his gaze from Amaryllis', after a moment, with no small degree of effort. "And you, little songbird," he says, glancing down, "as for you-"

Arum is interrupted.

Sir Damien presses his lips against Arum's, muffling him to a humming gasp, and the poet's hands settle upon him, one on his cheek and the other twisting in his cape, pulling him down. It arcs through him like magic, like- like _poetry_. Certain lines of which he cannot help but remember, just now.

"I love you," Damien breathes against him when he breaks the kiss, soft and sure as birdsong.

"Damien," Arum says, too shocked to say anything else, and the shyness slips back into Damien's eyes again.

"I understand if our former conflicts are- too much to move beyond, for you, if you do not feel about me as you do about Rilla, if-"

Arum pulls Damien closer, arms wrapping snug around him, slipping the claws of one hand into the poet's hair now that he can do away with pretense, now that he no longer needs to bury that temptation. Damien gasps against his mouth, and on instinct Arum catches his bottom lip with his teeth, careful and testing. "Ridiculous- _ridiculous_ little bird-" he presses his lips against Damien's again, and his own words- they are insufficient. "So ascended I," he growls, pulling Damien closer, _closer_, "alight- and _burning_-"

Damien gasps again when he recognizes his own verse, something like a sob in his voice. "Arum-"

"I love you, honeysuckle," Arum whispers, and Damien chokes, folding against him, allowing Arum to hold him.

Just to hold him. So simple, and so _much_, all at once. Damien's hair feels soft against the scales of Arum's palm, as soft as Arum imagined that it would be.

"Saints," Rilla breathes, and Arum blinks, glancing towards her again as she presses a hand against her chest and shakes her head. "I swear the two of you are _trying_ to kill me."

"Amaryllis," he says softly, but he cannot think what to say beyond that.

She steps closer, her lip pulling like she's burying a laugh as Arum holds Damien snugly against his chest, and when she is close enough he reaches out and she- she smiles wider, cupping his cheek and slotting herself in beside the poet.

"Amaryllis," he murmurs again, and she wraps her other arm around Damien, the palm on Arum's cheek slipping further to cup the back of his skull, making him shiver, making his chest rumble deeper.

"I love you too," she says, and Arum realizes- he realizes that he knew, already. Somewhere deep and hidden, somewhere he did not allow himself to look, before. "Can I kiss you?"

Arum chokes on a laugh. "I- of _course_ you- ridiculous, Amaryllis-"

She rolls her eyes, and as the laugh bubbles from her lips he leans down, nuzzling against her lips and reveling in the brightness of her mirth.

"I love you," he says again, his scales tickling Amaryllis' skin, his hands holding Damien close. "I love you." He pauses, holds them both even closer for a moment. "I… I do not know what we are meant to do. What this will mean, for all of us-"

"Big questions, Arum," Amaryllis says gently. "Good questions, too, and we're gonna have to talk about them sooner rather than later, I think, but-" she wets her lips, giving him a cautious sort of smile. "But maybe that can wait until tomorrow? I- I just kind of- I just want to be like this, for a little while. Okay?"

_Okay_, as if he would possibly object. There is no possible way for him to hold her closer. Instead he presses his face into her neck, burying himself in the softness of her skin. "Of course," he whispers there. "It will keep, Amaryllis."

"It will keep," Damien echoes in his arms, and then his voice goes a little higher, a little more frightened as he fists his hands in Arum's cape. "I apologize for- I am sorry to have drawn upon you, I only-"

"Thank you," Arum says, before Damien can lose himself to the panic, "for making me stay."

Arum feels the tug in his mind only a moment before the Keep sings, bemused and uncertain, and and Arum reluctantly loosens his grip on the humans.

"Ah," he says. "Right. Er- I don't suppose… the pair of you are hungry?"

Amaryllis laughs, and Arum struggles against the desire to press their mouths together again. "Yeah, actually. Long, long day." She shakes her head as they disentangle from the embrace, still smiling, and then she- reaches out again, and intertwines her fingers with his own. Damien smiles, and on Arum's other side the poet echoes her, slipping his warm palm against Arum's, and Arum's hands flex, his chest rumbling with something like joy. "Lead the way, then."

  
  


* * *

  
  


Dining together is familiar and strange and _wonderful_, all at once. He has shared so many meals with the both of them already, but never at his own table, never with his Keep humming additions to their conversation. Never with Amaryllis leaning against his side, the edges of the space between them softened to nothing at all. Never with Damien refusing to release his gentle grip on one of his hands for the entirety of the meal, his expression soft and adoring, his lips tumbling with new poetry, hopeful and loving verse. Never with the knowledge that he may reach for them, when he wishes to.

He spends most of the meal _wishing to_.

They do not seem to mind.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Eventually they finish their meal, the conversation dripping off to quiet contentment. One human leans on each of Arum's shoulders, speaking slow and drowsy, Amaryllis playing with his hand, pressing the pads of her fingers against his palm, turning his wrist in her hands with fond curiosity as Damien murmurs something rhythmic and quiet against Arum's neck between kisses that are so gentle they make his scales feel _electric_. Eventually Rilla's grip upon him goes slack, her breaths evening out, and honeysuckle follows not long after.

When they drift into unconsciousness still beside the table, the Keep reaches out with vines, draping a blanket from Arum's bedroom around all three of them, tucking it around their shoulders and then leaving soft new runners twining around Arum's shoulders, his horns, adding to the embrace.

Arum has never felt quite so warm, before. He has never felt quite so- so _certain_, so fierce.

He loves his Keep. He would go to war for it. He would fight and scrape and claw his way through _anything_ for the sake of his home, his counterpart. He would die for the Keep. He _would_.

He would die for the creatures in his arms, now, too.

He shifts very slightly, brushing the backs of his knuckles down Amaryllis' arm, feeling Damien's heart beating soft against his hand, pinned between his chest and Arum's side.

Yes. He would die for them.

But… Amaryllis wants him to live. She and Damien both. They want him to live. They want- they want more from him than that, even. They-

He cannot think it. His mind shies away. He is not _unsure_, not at all, he knows, now, how they feel, but- it seems too fragile a thing, still. Too new and delicate to bear the scrutiny of his mind. He sets their words aside for the moment. He refocuses. They want him to live; that is enough. They, and the Keep, as well. It wishes him alive, it _loves_ him, it is not mere duty that binds them.

“The Senate thinks I am _replaceable_,” he whispers above the sleeping humans, his memory of the attack still bright in his mind as he shares it with the Keep. The way the representative had shrugged and grinned with sharp white fangs and implied they had found someone _better_, to make use of the Hermit. “They think I am _disposable_.” The bright pain of the attack from behind, the further pain and rage that followed during his frantic attempt to defend himself, the bittersweet satisfaction of lifting the Hermit towards the light, the blow that cracked his horn and made his head spin, the choice in less than a breath of further claws or the _fall,_ the _water_-

Not like his swamp. Not the familiar, still, life-filled water of his home. Water rushing and cool, the bite of sharp rocks until he whited out to almost blissful nothing for immeasurable time, and then the strange, strange stillness that came before the mud, before warm hands and voice and-

Amaryllis’ face, in the darkness. All concern and determination, framed by hair that looked as if the night sky were pouring down around her, before he lost himself to blissful nothing again.

The rest of it the Keep will learn in time. It knows the most important part, now. Arum feels the heat of affection bloom through his counterpart, sees the curling growth of small sprigs of white and orange flowers the Keep blooms above his doctor.

“They think they can use me and discard me and I will simply _die_,” Arum murmurs. “Perhaps. Perhaps I may have simply accepted that, once. Perhaps.”

The Keep's vines around his shoulders tighten, secure, and when it sings of comfort and home and life life _life_, Arum feels it in his mind and in his bones.

“They were wrong,” Arum says, quite simply. “On all accounts.” He pauses, inhaling, feeling as the strength he has been missing slowly returns to him, the gentle care of his doctor given new expediency by his home. “We will live, and we will not be used again.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning, warm and safe, and together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter and a weird chapter and i don't know whether to be sorry about it, but a certain someone(s) will yell at me if i am, so. I hope you enjoy? One more chapter _probably_ to wrap things up, hopefully. probably. probably. I love you, kiss a lizzer.

Damien wakes at the same time he does nearly every day, regardless of the light strain in his muscles from the last leg of the journey, from the duel. He inhales deeply before his eyes are even open, and he hears an unfamiliar creak of wood, smells rich soil and vague sweet florals, feels the softness of his Rilla close by his side, feels-

The rise and fall of a scaled chest, beneath his own cheek. Scaled arms, wrapped around him. A clawed hand, curled at his lower back.

Damien blinks his eyes open, and stares at the gleaming, dappled scales he is resting against, and his heart-

His heart beats steady, and calm, and certain, and Damien wishes to wake like this… every day, if he is able. As often as he is allowed to do so, at the very least. His forever-flower close and safe and warm by his side, Arum's hands wrapped around the both of them.

He closes his eyes again, feeling their bodies beside him, committing this precise feeling to memory, future rhythms and rhymes tickling the back of his tongue. He breathes, slow and safe, and Rilla and Arum breathe as well, untroubled in slumber.

Content as he is, though, Damien knows that if he remains in their arms for much longer he will come in danger of waking them. The urge to press his lips to Rilla's shoulder, to the scales above Arum's heart- he would not dare risk it, but the temptation is too strong.

And- well, it _ is _ morning, and Damien has a routine to maintain, of course.

Arum's grasp upon him is loose in sleep; it is not terribly difficult to extricate himself, to allow the lizard's limbs to curl around Rilla instead, and neither wake though Rilla mutters something in her sleep as she presses her face into Arum's shoulder. That alone is enough that Damien needs press a hand hard over his mouth, the words on his tongue threatening to spill past his lips with the force of his adoration.

As Damien pulls his eyes away from that utterly enthralling sight, he realizes that they are no longer in the same place they fell to sleep the night before. They are not by Arum's table- in fact, they appear to be in a bed.

Arum's bed, Damien must assume.

He bites his lip, feels heat in his cheeks, and decides not to think too deeply on that particular detail.

Not at the moment, at least.

He tiptoes away from the bed, towards the loose curtain of leafy vines that separate the room from a wide balcony outside, shrugging off his shirt as he goes. The swamp below is utterly beautiful, _ breathtaking _ and thrumming with life, splotched with color and vibrancy, and Damien inhales the floral morning air of the Keep deeply, and then he begins his exercises.

Tranquility. Damien is filled with the feeling again as the sunlight hums warm through his eyelids, and he did not realize that he had been _ lacking_, before. No, he had settled into his knighthood and achieved not tranquility, but _ complacency_. Perhaps the one had preluded the other, but nonetheless he had allowed himself to forget the water, forget the _ flow _ of the river, to _ stagnate_.

Damien slowly works his body, wakes his muscles, whispers his prayers to the morning air, to his Saint.

Mostly, this morning, his prayers revolve around the theme of thankfulness. Damien does not think he has ever felt so blessed.

He is settled, sun-warmed, utterly tranquil by the time he is finished, and he takes a long moment to simply… lean on the woven structure of the balcony railing, looking down upon the hazy glory of the swamp beneath him, rich greens and browns speckled through with vibrant purple, colors that echo and summon to memory the elegant visage of the monster still resting inside. The echo alone is enough to make Damien's heart ache, and he cannot think of a single good reason to deny himself the joy of returning to their sides, of holding patient vigil until his loves wake.

He gently sweeps the vine curtain aside as he steps back in from the sunlight, but he pauses in the threshold when he sees the flash of violet, gazing at him from the bed.

Rilla is still sleeping, still curled against Arum's chest, but the monster is awake. Awake, and _ attentive_, if the brightness of his eyes is any indication, and Damien feels his cheeks heat again.

"A-Arum," he says, his voice pitched carefully low. "I- I did not wake you, did I?"

Arum shakes his head, his mouth curling into a slight smile.

Damien stands in the threshold, licks his lips, and Arum watches him quietly.

"I… it is… your home is _ beautiful_, Lord Arum," he says eventually, and Arum's expression softens even further, going pleased and warm. "Thank you for… for sharing it with us."

"Honeysuckle," Arum says softly, and Damien feels the word like a ribbon wrapped around his throat. Soft, and welcome, but undeniable as well.

"Yes, Arum?"

The monster stares for another moment, one of his palms drifting very, very slowly up and down Rilla's back as she sleeps, and then his tongue flicks before he meets Damien's eyes again.

"Come here," he murmurs, and then he lifts a hand in Damien's direction. "Please."

Arum's eyes are soft, warm, perhaps a little worried- _ more _ worried, the longer Damien does not respond. He shakes off his surprise, and he does as Arum asks, padding closer until he is within Arum's reach.

Arum does not reach, though. Not immediately. He holds his outstretched hand just away from Damien's arm, and Damien sees him swallow before the monster glances up enough to meet his eyes again. "Honeysuckle," he repeats in a murmur, the nerves in his eyes sparking brighter.

Damien feels his lips pulling into a smile, affection making him feel near _ giddy_, and then he kneels beside the bed, putting himself closer to eye level with the monster as he reclines, trapped beneath Rilla's quietly sleeping body.

"Arum," he murmurs, and then he drifts his palm across the back of Arum's hand, feeling the texture of scales against his skin, and then he gently pulls Arum's hand to his mouth so he may place a kiss at the heel of his palm, joy welling higher and hotter within him when that makes the monster give a keening sort of noise.

Arum swallows again, his hand flexing in Damien's, and then he drifts the tips of his claws across Damien's cheek with delicate care.

"Come here," he breathes again, and Damien blinks. "Closer, honeysuckle."

Damien leans forward, Arum's hand on his cheek tickling gentle as the space between them softens. Damien pulls himself back onto the bed beside them, careful, and Arum's eyes stay fixed upon him, steady and determined and only barely edged with nervousness now.

Damien pauses, then, close but still with space for breath between them, and there is something expectant on Arum's face now, but Damien is still not entirely sure…

He reaches out, cupping Arum's face as Arum is cupping his. Arum's breath catches, his frill raising just barely, and he leans into the touch, a rumble growing in his chest.

"Well?" the monster says in a whisper, and Damien blinks again.

"W-well?" he echoes, uncertain, and Arum's hand on his face flexes, claws so terribly careful against the skin beneath his ear. "Well, what?"

Arum exhales, his frill raising further, and the nervousness returns to his eyes though he does not pull his hand away. "I… I am… I imagine that you understand better… what is expected next. Human… _convention _ is quite beyond me."

Damien tilts his head, letting his cheek rest more fully in Arum's palm. "I am not quite sure what you mean," he says gently.

"All- all of this." Arum gestures with another hand, vague and wincing as he does. "Being- being _ together_. I have your example- yours and Amaryllis', but- but I have been- attempting not to allow myself to- look. Not to look too closely at the pair of you."

Damien blinks, warmth blooming brighter in his chest at the uncertainty and worry on Arum's face. "Oh." He breathes a light laugh, caressing Arum's jaw when the monster winces again. "Oh, well- if- if you are concerned for _ convention_, I think you may safely set those concerns aside. This- this," he strokes his thumb over Arum's cheek, lifting his other hand and placing it over Arum's to draw light down Rilla's back. "This _ us_. This you, and I, and she… it would be madness to expect us to be _ conventional_, Arum. We must find our own rhythms, our own union, our own strength."

Arum exhales slowly, some of the tension in his shoulders softening, and he nods very slightly. "A fair point," he murmurs. "Nonetheless I am… uncertain what I should… do."

"Your instincts seem to be sound," Damien says, his voice warm, and then he pulls his hand back to cup Arum's own, cradling it against his cheek. "This is… quite lovely. I no longer need pretend that I have not longed for your hands upon me… longed to know the caress of scale upon my skin, longed to discover how your arms would feel around me… around _ us_."

Arum's breath whirs, his tongue flicking, his slitted pupils slowly widening to dark diamonds. "You…" he smiles, very slightly. "Even at this hour you drift into poetics. I suppose I should not be surprised to hear the songbird lilt with the rise of the sun."

"I will lilt for you whenever you like, Arum," Damien breathes. "I am afraid I cannot help myself… the only words I can find to describe you, to describe what I want from you- they are all of them rather poetic."

"What you… want from me," Arum echoes, his tongue flicking again, and Damien feels his cheeks heat.

"I find myself more concerned, at the moment," he answers, "with what _ you _ want from _ me_. If you are unsure what you _ should _ do, Arum, I think perhaps that would be the place to start. You answered me yesterday in a much grander sense, what you desire from us, but- what of this moment? No expectations, no convention. What do you desire?"

"You," Arum answers instantly, and Damien's breath leaves him in a sharp exhale. "Amaryllis," he continues. "_This_." He caresses Damien's cheek, the sharpness of his claws utterly careful, utterly safe. "Only this."

Damien blinks quickly, fighting back the dampness in his eyes, and his smile is helpless and warm. "An easy desire to fulfill, then," he murmurs, his voice wavering only slightly with the force of his adoration, and he edges a little closer, one arm pressing against Arum's as he arranges himself back on the bed more closely to the pair of them. "Have you any other desires we may meet with such ease?"

"I…" Arum trails off, his eyes flicking between Damien's, and then he gives a very soft laugh. "P-perhaps-"

Damien waits, but Arum does not finish the thought. He raises an eyebrow, staring at the monster as his frill begins to flutter again. "Arum?"

"Closer," Arum manages, his voice vaguely strained. "Would you-" he breaks off, hissing low, ducking his head, and then he sucks in a slower, steadying breath before he braves meeting Damien's eyes.

Violet, violet like-

Like nothing else. No metaphor Damien can summon would even come close. And those eyes, full of so much _ feeling_, full of emotion, full of-

Love. Warm and overflowing, brighter and bolder than whatever fear is attempting to hold Arum's tongue.

"Kiss me again, Damien," the monster says at last, and the words may be a command in form, but Damien hears the desperation coloring them into a plea.

Damien's heart pulses, love rushing through him like a wave, and he knows that he could not possibly deny Lord Arum so sweet a request. He could not. Moreover, he does not want to.

Damien leans down, slow and patient, feeling Arum's sharp breath against him for a lingering moment before he presses even closer, and Arum's name bounces on his lips as they brush soft over the monster's mouth.

Arum _ gasps_, light and sweet, one hand slipping back to claw gently through Damien's hair, the monster's breath whirring at the back of his throat, the texture of his scales making Damien's lips tingle.

Arum's mouth doesn't move like Rilla's, the contact stiffer, cooler, but the way his claws flex at the nape of Damien's neck, the soft whine he gives, the light pressure of his teeth against Damien's lower lip, all of it spins together into something strange, overwhelming, _ enthralling_, and Damien is utterly helpless against the pull of it, utterly unable to do anything else besides press another kiss to Arum's mouth, and another, until they blend out of individual context, until he loses the thread of anything besides the sensation itself.

"Good _ morning_," Rilla says, some time later by Damien's hazy estimation, and her voice is syrupy with sleep. Arum hisses as Damien pulls back with a sharp inhale, his heart swelling with delight as it ever does when his flower blesses him with her attention. She stretches against Arum (the monster gasps again), looking up at the both of them with warm, dark, gleeful eyes and a smile that squeezes Damien's heart. "Gotta say, I'm not a morning person, but if I can wake up to _ that _ more often I could probably be lured over to your side, Damien."

"Rilla," Damien murmurs, and Arum's claws are still in his hair as Rilla gives him that sly, loving smile, and Damien's fevered mind wonders briefly how happy it is physically possible to be. "Oh, oh love-"

She leans up and kisses him without preamble, and Damien's eyes slip automatically closed even as he hears Arum give a ticking rattle of surprise mere inches away, his palm drifting down the back of Damien's neck. Rilla's mouth slides against his own, familiar and intoxicating before she pulls back with a low hum of pleasure. "Sleep well, Damien?" she murmurs, and Damien presses another kiss to her cheek, chaste and delicate.

"Entirely soundly," he answers, "and blessed to wake with such beauty surrounding me, as well."

Arum ducks his head, his smile both flustered and pleased, his chest rumbling- _ purring_, Damien realizes, at the base of his throat, and Rilla turns her warm gaze upon him next.

"Good morning, Arum," her voice soft as she smiles up at him, pressing her palm to his chest. "Are you feeling okay today?"

Arum blinks, as if taking a moment to remember his own injuries. "I… yes. I feel… I… I think, perhaps, I feel better than I ever have," he says, very quietly.

"_Really_," Rilla says, her eyebrows raising as her smile goes wider, her hand drifting up from his chest, up the column of his throat, gently brushing the edges of his healing frill. "All better, that quick?"

The monster wrinkles his snout, huffing a breath. "Well. A- a little sore, still, perhaps. But-"

Rilla lifts herself up, leaning to press her lips to the scales of his frill, and Arum breaks off into a whirring hiss.

"Saints," she whispers, and then she kisses him again, lips brushing his neck. "Y'know- I'd be lying if I said I hadn't wanted to do that for a _ long _ time."

"I-" Arum pants a breath, the hand he still has curled around her lifting to stroke down her braid. "I- I would be lying if I said I had not been longing for…" he exhales a laugh. "I didn't even know _ what_. Your touch, your conversation, your attention … all of it. _ This_." The arms he is caressing each of them with curl more tightly around them, tugging them into a proper embrace. "This," he says more softly, and then he runs the tip of his snout along Rilla's jaw, nuzzling and flicking his tongue lightly at the skin of her throat. He lifts his remaining two hands, taking Rilla's own in one and Damien's in the other, tangling his fingers with theirs, squeezing. "This," he repeats. "This, I wanted quite dearly."

Damien's heart swells almost painfully, and he lifts Arum's hand to kiss his knuckles, his mind a tangle of prayer and poetry and love.

"I wish I could keep you here forever," Arum whispers, giving barely enough breath to be heard, closing his eyes as Damien kisses his knuckles again. "I know, of course, I cannot. I know you must… return to your lives, but- but so short a time, knowing- allowing myself- so little time to- to love you _ properly_, _ takatakataka. _ So little time before we must- before you _ leave_-"

Rilla cups Arum's face in both hands, her dark skin so indescribably beautiful against the jewel-gleam of Arum's scales, and then she kisses him, slow and thorough and sweet, and Damien's heart swells yet again at the sight of these two precious creatures tangling together.

When she pulls back, only leaving just enough space between them for breath, for words, Arum exhales slowly, calmly.

"We'll figure it out," Rilla says, her voice utterly confident. "And… in the _ meantime_," she pauses to kiss him again, "I don't see any reason to rush off home this _ instant_, if you aren't eager to kick us out anymore-"

"Of course not," Arum growls. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Good," she says, and then she glances Damien's way, raising her eyebrow in a question that makes Damien's cheeks go hot, and he knows that she understands his desires _ precisely _ without him needing to even nod. "In that case… I think maybe we could just… spend the morning _ here_... just like this, and we can work out something _ else _ I think we all want."

Arum stares up at her for an uncomprehending moment, and then Rilla presses another, deeper kiss to his mouth, her hands slipping back to wrap around him, one cupping the back of his head, her tongue darting out to trace the line of his teeth, and when she pulls back again Arum pants out a wild sort of breath, his diamond pupils widened such that they are nearly round, now.

"If," Damien says gently, "_that_ is something you desire as well." He smiles, leaning up to peck the tip of Arum's snout much more chastely. "Whatever it is you do desire, we will love you all the same," he says, and Rilla nods beside him. "So… why don't you tell us, then. What do you want?"

Arum stares down at the both of them, his frill flared and flushed, his eyes wide and bright and intense, and then the monster smiles.

"You," he says, simply. "Both of you. Of _ course _ I want you, however much of yourselves you choose to share. I will treat your generosity with precisely as much care as it deserves."

Rilla's smirk softens, and she draws her hand down the back of Arum's neck slowly, making him hiss and shiver. "You big softie," she murmurs.

Arum narrows his eyes, though he cannot seem to clamp down on his own smile as he hisses, "Arrogant little creature."

"I love you both _ so _ much," Damien keens, the words bubbling up past any semblance of control, and Arum and Rilla both look towards him.

Rilla's smile is soft, understanding, and Arum looks nearly awestruck with it before he flicks his tongue, breathing something like a laugh. He shifts, pulling himself up to lean over Damien, crowding close enough to rub his cheek along Damien's, sweet and affectionate.

"I love the both of you more than I know how to say," he says in a voice that trembles with both emotion and laughter. "So perhaps-" he pulls back, his violet eyes so determined and full of undeniable desire, and he reaches a hand out, drawing Rilla closer as she laughs. "Perhaps, little humans, I should _show_ you, instead."


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lord of the Swamp has returned home! An exciting event for all who live there, certainly. Arum's humans want some assurance that he will still be safe, when they leave him to return to their own home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some discussion of mental health, depression, and suicidal ideation in this chapter, mostly dealing with past events in the fic. Take care of yourselves! I love you! aaaaaa kinda freaking out we're so close to the end now aaaaaaaa im. not ready

They stay an extra day. Just to be certain that the Keep's influence and healing are truly going to _stick_, Amaryllis says, but none of them are fooled.

Arum does not feel as if their time together is passing _correctly_; every moment feels distinctly _present_, his awareness heightened by their closeness and by the Keep's consciousness at his edges again, but time rushes past with the speed of a hunted hare. Arum does not know how to dig his claws into this day and make it _stay_, if only for a moment or so longer.

When they pull themselves from embrace in the late morning, they eat together again (as close by his side as the night previous, and Arum feels warm from his core). After, they explore the greenhouse more deeply, and Damien recites something that bounces such with clever rhyme that Arum can hardly keep up with the content rather than the form.

He takes them outside, then, because they are curious about the swamp itself, and because Arum cannot seem to deny them their curiosities. He cannot seem to, he does not want to- the fact that they wish to know his home is so intoxicating a realization that he can hardly prevent himself from gripping their hands and _rushing_ to show them every single thing that they could possibly have an interest in.

The Keep opens the way, letting them out at the front, near one of the wider ponds, and-

And the noise strikes Arum first. Instinctively he spreads his arms, pressing Amaryllis and Damien behind himself, safe between his back and the Keep, and then he blinks and realizes what, precisely, he hears. What he sees.

His denizens. The assembled masses of the swamp, flocks and families all gathered on the water and among the low foliage and up in the branches, the venomous monkeys interspersed with brightly colored birds, egrets and lynxfish at the edge of the water, frogs and snakes and chittering rodents, every single beast with a touch of his Keep at its heart-

They have amassed here, outside his home, and their rustling feathers and trilling peeps and croaks and squawks, their hooting and scuffling all slowly die off as each one of them turns their gaze upon him.

And then, after that pause, that silence, the crowd _erupts_.

It is a decidedly _cheerful_ eruption, but Arum still takes a step backward at the sudden noise, pressing the humans back with him as the denizens of his swamp give one enormous, celebratory _noise_.

Arum can feel the Keep behind him, all smugness and delight, and as the cheering begins to subside, a suspiciously familiar bird alights at to his left, its head tilted to fix him with bright, beady eyes.

"A-ah." Arum stares at the heron, and he hears Amaryllis give a stunned, breathy laugh behind him. "You- ah. What did I say… _spread the word if you must_," he mutters. "I see you took that instruction quite to heart, yes?"

The heron chuffs, and then preens as if distracted, and Arum laughs as well as the crowd fades back to silence entirely, staring up at him with obvious expectation.

"Er- they seem," Damien laughs nervously when Arum glances over his shoulder to meet the poet's eyes. "Rather- rather _exuberant_, I should say."

"I mean, _yeah_, but can you blame them?" Amaryllis adds.

"No, not at all, it is simply- I was not expecting-" Damien laughs again, and this time when Arum glances to check his expression the poet looks almost _shy_. "It is simply that… I am quite glad to know that you are so beloved, Arum."

Arum blinks, and then he glances back towards the creatures amassed, surrounding. He sighs, but- he cannot quite bury the wry smile that curls his mouth as he steps forward again, allowing his cape to billow behind him.

He waits for a moment, allowing the excited tittering to die back down after his movement, and then he straightens his spine.

"I suppose the lot of you were eager to see proof with your own eyes, rather than rumor on wing." He shoots a glance towards the heron, who makes an admirable show of puffing up its feathers with pride. "Well," he says slowly. "You may lay your fears to rest. I was separated from my purpose by treachery, kept distant by injury, but-" his voice fails, an unexpected hitch in his throat, and he shakes his head quickly. "But I- I am home. I have come _home_, and I will not be parted from it again. I- I apologize, for the length of my absence-"

He hears the humans behind him make simultaneous disapproving noises, and he shakes his head again.

"It was never my intention to be kept away for so long." He grits his teeth. "It was never my intention to be away _at all_. Though-"

He can feel the slight tickle of heat, the radiant warmth of the humans behind him, the safety of their presence at his back.

"Though I will admit that the distance has given me a rather inarguable dose of _perspective_ . The Swamp of Titan's Blooms will be _reassessing_ certain alliances and enmities in the near future," he says in a growl, "but- for the _moment_, it is sufficient that I am home. I will not be torn away again."

The heron cries out, and Arum attempts not to appear startled when the assembly of his denizens takes up the cheer in response. He manages, barely, not to allow his frill to flare. It ruffles at his neck instead, and he grumbles as the noise fades off again. The heron squawks a question as he is opening his mouth to continue, a pointed inquiry, and Arum bristles, but-

Well. The question is a fair one. Arum himself barely understands how this particular arrangement is even possible.

"These- they are-" Arum pauses. He swallows, and then he half turns to glance back towards the humans, and then he quickly turns his attention back to the front as the looks on their faces break through his control, causing his frill to flare partway. The assembled beasts shuffle, slightly, but they do not chitter or call through his brief silence, and he squares his shoulders. "Amaryllis and- and Sir Damien," he says. At the edge of his vision Amaryllis _waves_, the absurd, charming creature, and he feels Damien stiffen at the further attention. He inhales, and then he- he reaches back, opening his palms without looking behind himself again, and before he can harbor even a moment of doubt he feels their fingers twine with his own, and they step up beside him properly.

Where they _belong_, he thinks.

"They are… they are my… consorts," he tries, eying the pair of them, and Amaryllis raises an eyebrow with a wide grin. Damien flushes dark, which- is interesting. Worth revisiting at a later time. They do not seem… _bothered_, that he would claim them as _his_, however, so he exhales slowly and turns his gaze back towards the assembled creatures. "They are honored guests, under my protection. It was their efforts which allowed me to return to you as quickly as I have. It was their efforts which allowed me to return to you _at all_."

He pauses again, and the creatures titter with varying levels of excitement and confusion and enthusiasm, and Arum sticks his snout in the air.

"That will be all, then," he snaps quickly, turning as the Keep dutifully reopens a portal for the three of them. "This has taken rather enough of your time- and _mine_. This absence will _not_ be repeated. Return to your homes and lives and all will be taken care of henceforth, good _day_."

Amaryllis and Sir Damien laugh rather enthusiastically in his direction once they are safely hidden within the Keep again. Arum attempts to maintain a dignified level of fury, but-

Wretched creatures. Amaryllis snorts into her hand and nearly doubles in half, and Damien makes a noise that approaches a _squeak_, and Arum cannot help but fall to laughter of his own as he gathers them into his arms.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Amaryllis' expression begins to cloud over with concern partway through dinner, and Arum is wary from the moment he notices the change to the moment when she finally opens her mouth after the meal is done.

"So," she begins, and Arum attempts to stifle his instinct to bolt. "I wanted to… to talk to you about what happens after we leave," she says.

Arum ducks his head slightly, sighing.

"There is no cause for concern, Amaryllis," he murmurs. "I can apply some salves well enough on my own, and obviously you need not fear harm to your species from my hand, either. Provided no _knights_ come traipsing through my swamp, that is," he says, gesturing lazily. "I have no interest whatsoever in returning to the same work that nearly _killed_ me. As far as I am concerned, this war _did_ kill me. I will not be dragged into it again."

Amaryllis winces. Damien's lips press tight together, and he squeezes Amaryllis' hand for a moment before she releases her grip on him, and shifts closer to Arum's seat instead. "That- that's kind of exactly what I wanted to talk about. Arum, I… I need you to tell me you're going to take care of yourself. That you're not-"

"I said, not moments ago, that I am perfectly capable of-"

"Not the injuries, Arum," she says quickly, and he pauses, narrowing his eyes. "I need to know that- that you're not going to hurt yourself if we're not here with you," she manages, and Arum feels his breath go shallow.

"Amaryllis," he says. "Don't- don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not," she says. "I'm worried about you."

"Absurd," he hisses, looking away. "I am _home_, entirely thanks to the pair of you. _I_ should be the one worrying over _you_, going back into the wilds. I could not possibly be safer."

"From yourself?" Amaryllis says, her brow furrowed with worry. "Look, I- I know this is _uncomfortable_, Arum, but- but I know that you've tried to get Damien to- to-"

"What? Wh-what did you tell her?" Arum says, turning towards Damien, and he means to _snap_ but his tone sounds more hurt than furious. Damien only sits, his hands clasped in his lap, his lips pressed tight together. "What did you say, _knight_?"

"He didn't tell me anything, Arum." She shakes her head, angling her body a bit more between them, leaning closer. "Nothing _specific_, at least, but I'm not stupid. I heard you goading him plenty of times, and he said you told him about your- your _work_ before we left, and he said that if he killed you then, it wouldn't have been a _slaying_ and really there's only one way to interpret _that_ evidence-" she pauses, cringes, bites her lip. "You tried to get Damien to _kill_ you."

Arum freezes, his mouth going dry.

"I don't know if it was because of guilt or- or depression or panic about the trip or _what_, but- but I already told you, Arum. I didn't put in all this hard work just for you to _die_. Just for you to throw all of it away-"

"I am _home_, Amaryllis," he manages in a whisper. "You brought me home. There will certainly be no reason for me to- to endanger myself now."

"No?" she says weakly. "There wasn't any _reason_ for you to try to goad Damien into killing you back in the hut, either, Arum, but you did it anyway."

"I-" Arum glances away again, his hand flexing, but she reaches out and takes one of his hands, squeezing tight. His eyes flick to Sir Damien, sitting quiet though his worried eyes are fixed on the pair of them. "I- that was- _different_-"

"Different _how_, Arum?"

"I did not want you to endanger yourself for _me_, Amaryllis," he hisses, turning towards her with his tail thrashing. "You- you make the world less cruel, by your actions, your choices, your _existence_. The both of you. You _try_, if nothing else, and for you to leap to action and danger for _my_ sake is- _was_-"

She stares up into his eyes, her hand clasped tight around his wrist, and he clenches his teeth and pretends that his throat is not aching.

"If helping _me_ destroyed you, it would be the worst of cruelties I have inflicted upon this world. And I, Amaryllis, have inflicted more than my share of cruelties already."

"So you try to take yourself out of the picture instead? Arum-"

"The little knight did not _bite_ when provoked regardless, so I hardly see how it matters," Arum growls, and in his periphery he sees Damien flinch, his head ducking.

Amaryllis' grip on his wrist tightens. "You do know that's not comforting, right? It _matters_ because I- because we love you, and because if you _die_, Arum, you'll be _dead_. Even if you were trying to protect us in some roundabout way-"

Arum flinches, and she pauses, pressing her lips together for a moment as she visibly chooses a different phrasing.

"If you had managed to convince Damien to do it, it'd be cruel, first of all. He doesn't deserve that kind of guilt weighing on him. And second, again, _you would be dead_, Arum. You implied that you and the Keep exist in a symbiosis- what good would you be to it if-"

"Another would come after me," Arum hisses. "I am not the first, and I will not be the last. The Keep will always have a familiar, no matter my own mortal status."

"That-" Amaryllis makes a noise, small and uncertain. "I- okay. Okay, explain that. If you dropped dead _right now_, would the Keep just- generate a new familiar instantly? Would I be talking to your replacement in a minute flat?"

Arum flicks his eyes away again. "No. Don't be foolish, it doesn't work like that."

"_Explain_ it to me, then," Amaryllis repeats. "Of course I don't know how it works, Arum. So explain to me why you would think that your death would be in _any_ way an acceptable option."

"It- another familiar would be created, yes. They would require- time to grow, however. The Keep nurtures us from infancy. It would have a hatchling-"

"So," she says calmly, "_obviously_ this is the preferred option. You can protect your home better than an _infant_ could."

"But-"

"Would the Keep _want_ you to die?"

Arum flinches again, twisting his body away from Amaryllis though he still will not pull his wrist from her grasp. The Keep gives a sharp, swift reply of its own, near discordant in its vehemence, and Arum ducks his head with a hiss. "N-no."

"I can tell you love the Keep, Arum," she says, more quietly. "I have to imagine that it loves you too."

"It-" Arum inhales, sharp and panicked, then exhales something like a laugh. "I-"

The Keep trills again, and then it reaches with gentle vines to grip a wrist on his other side, echoing the way Amaryllis is holding him. The contact is too gentle, and the feeling of the Keep's affection in his mind is too raw, too close, after so long missing the feeling. He closes his eyes, clenches his teeth together, and pretends not to feel his eyes heating, his throat constricting.

"Yes," he says in a whisper so low he is not confident that Amaryllis' ears will be able to discern it. "Yes, my Keep loves me." He swallows, then lifts another hand to grip the vine the Keep is holding him with. "It loves me," he repeats, a little more steadily, and if he refuses to open his eyes, then perhaps he need not acknowledge the wetness on his cheeks at all. "The Keep loves me, just as I love it."

Amaryllis makes a soft sort of noise, and Arum feels her hand- feels her thumb on his cheek, feels her gentle away the evidence of his ridiculous surplus of emotion. He waits until her hand retreats, and then he opens his eyes again with a sigh.

"You can protect the Keep and care about yourself too, Arum," she says quietly, and her own eyes are bright. "I just- I need to know you're going to be safe. I can't just _leave_, not knowing if I'm going to see you again-"

"If _we_ are going to see you again," Damien adds gently, moving closer at last, arranging himself behind Amaryllis and reaching to brush his fingers down Arum's arm. "I know, Arum, that it is not so easy as to simply _decide_ that the demons of one's own mind are conquered. It is not a matter of willpower alone- that is _why_ we wish to speak of it."

"We want to help," Amaryllis says, her voice wobbling very slightly. "We want to understand what you're feeling, and we want you to know that we're _here_, and we _care_ about you, and you _matter_ to us. Even when we leave, even when we're away from you- you matter to us and it's _important_ to us that you _know_ that you matter, that you're not- you're not _replaceable_. Not to us."

Arum attempts to ignore the way his heart is racing, the way his eyes still feel too hot, and he finds himself failing when the Keep hums, vines embracing him as it echoes the sentiment firmly.

"I- I have- surely you understand that I have precisely _zero_ intention of harming myself," he breathes, quick and harsh. "I do not _want_ to die-"

It is only that sometimes, in the past, when he was exhausted past his means or when the creeping gray of his mind clouded him… it would have been so much _easier_. Only the Keep would mourn, and soon enough even it would be drawn past that grief by his replacement. Arum very rarely considered those thoughts, outside of those moments of darkness.

They are watching him, watching whatever must be playing out in his expression, patient and fond and worried, and Arum exhales very slowly.

"I do not want to die," he repeats, his voice coming steadier. "I… I can understand…" he sighs, ducking his head. "It is not unreasonable for you to… to concern yourselves. But I have been- I have been speaking with my Keep, since my return, and- and we will _not_ be parted again, least of all by my own hand. I meant what I said, this afternoon, when I spoke to my subjects. If nothing else, my recent proximity to death has given me a rather jarring dose of _perspective_. I wish to live, to protect my home, to-"

Arum snaps his teeth together, stifling the words that wish to come next, but then-

His shoulders relax, and he allows a smile to curl his mouth. He need not hide such words. Not anymore.

"I wish to live," he repeats. "I refuse to die before I have loved the both of you as well as you deserve, and I imagine that will take _rather_ a long time."

"Oh," Damien breathes, clinging to Amaryllis as she gives a watery sort of smile. "Oh, Arum- oh, my lily-"

Arum's breath catches, and Damien freezes, his jaw snapping shut in obvious mortification.

"Er- rather, that is- that was- rather _presumptuous_ of me, of course-"

Arum presses forward, draping himself over Amaryllis as she yelps and cackles a laugh, pressing her back so that she and Damien both are trapped between Arum's chest and the cushions below, and then he nuzzles Amaryllis' neck, nuzzles past to press his snout into Damien's ear, nipping gently as he crowds closer, closer, warm and safe as he remembers _again_ that they will not push him away, they will not _scorn_ him.

By all the incomprehensibility of the Universe, they will _claim_ him.

"_My_ honeysuckle," he hisses into the crook of Damien's neck, and Damien gasps. "_Mine_\- my love-"

It is _wild_, it is _absurd_, _maddening_, the things he is allowed- what they allow him-

Amaryllis laughs even harder, her hair falling into her face as she unconvincingly pushes at his shoulders. "You- you are _such_ a-"

"I love you, my Amaryllis," he growls, and his heart swells as her breath catches too.

They have given him so, so much. They have given him _everything_.

He knows precisely the gift he intends to give them in return.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The next morning dawns bittersweet, though the resplendent peach-and-gold of the sunrise does not appear to have been informed. The light pours warm through the portal when the Keep pulls it open to the very edge of the swamp, and Arum does not know how, precisely, to _feel_ as he watches Amaryllis' posture stiffen and Damien's shoulders sag, when the reality of the parting strikes the three of them in the same moment.

The Keep presses wrapped packages into the humans's hands, bundles of supplies that should _more_ than keep them fed until they reach some semblance of human civilization again. Arum suspects, but has not pried such to confirm, that the Keep has also stealthily added in portions of sweets, as well as other small gifts and trinkets, possibly some bunches of local herbs that it observed Amaryllis taking a particular interest in.

They tuck the new gifts into their packs, and Damien presses his lips together tight, flicking his eyes to draw down Arum's face, rather obviously committing his sight to memory.

"I don't…" Amaryllis sighs, and he and Damien turn their attention towards her. "I don't know how long it'll be before we can manage another trip like this," she says, frowning, and Damien presses a hand to her shoulder, his own expression going mournful.

Arum forces his expression flat, burying his nerves and his hope both. "It may not be so difficult as you think, to see each other again."

He's gratified when Amaryllis' eyes dart to him, surprise and skepticism on her raised brows.

"You better not be threatening what I _think_ you are," she warns. "Magic healing or no, I do _not_ wanna find out that you decided to take a big solo _trip_ so soon after recovering, even if it means we get to-"

"I do not intend any such thing," he says mildly, suppressing the urge to grin, and he nudges the Keep in his mind to fetch his surprise. "Do you… trust me, Amaryllis?"

"Stupid question, Arum."

"Even if what I tell you will sound impossible?"

"_Most_ of what you say sounds impossible," she hedges, narrowing her eyes.

"We love you," Damien says, a little tearfully, and Arum struggles to maintain his composure as the poet takes his hand, lifting it to press a kiss to his knuckles. "Of _course_ we trust you."

Arum squeezes Damien's hand, and he _knows_ his voice will tremble if he attempts to answer that, so he simply nods before he tugs Damien's hand to his own mouth to echo the gesture as Amaryllis rolls her eyes at the both of them.

"Good," he says eventually, when he knows his voice will come steady. "Good. Then- I have something for you."

"A present?" Damien smiles. "Oh, Arum-"

"I suppose you could call it that," Arum rumbles, looking away for a moment as the Keep deposits the bundle into his free arms. "Though, it is a rather self-serving gift, if anything," he adds in a murmur. "Here."

He hands Amaryllis the linen-wrapped ball of roots and soil, watching as she carefully cradles it, her eyes bright as she tilts her head to better see the dark brown sapling with the shining green and purple leaves sprouting small and fragile from the bundle.

"Arum, what-"

"Trust me," he says, and she shoots him a look, scowling though he knows- he knows that she will bury her curiosity for his sake. It will be worth it, he thinks, for the surprise. "Bring the plant home with you. Ensure that the soil is not lost- it is just as important as the flora itself. Place it somewhere it will be safe-" he pauses, breathes a laugh. "Perhaps you could find some room beside the Jungle Flame, out of sight of the kitchen window. If you can bear to clear the stack of notes cluttering the corner there-"

"Watch it," Amaryllis grumbles, and Arum laughs again.

"Give it a home," he says quietly. "Mix the soil provided with some from your own garden. Not too much- no more than half again. It will bloom quickly, when it is settled, and when it does-"

She tilts her head, calculation in her eyes as she commits his instruction to memory.

"When it does," he murmurs, "if you wish to see me again, all you need do is ask."

"_If_," Amaryllis snorts, and Arum ducks his head. "Yeah, dummy, _if_ we wanna see you again- Saints you're ridiculous-"

"Oh, Arum," Damien murmurs, and then he- goes up on his toes and flings his arms around Arum's shoulders, embracing him tightly and pressing his face against Arum's neck. "Oh, I can safely assure you that my heart will ache with your absence the very moment we are parted, oh my lily-"

Arum returns the embrace, squeezing tight and lifting Damien fully off the ground, though he growls and glares at Amaryllis over the knight's shoulder. "And you call _me_ ridiculous."

"You _both_ are," she says, utterly fond. "I've got a _type_."

Arum laughs, and clings more tightly, and when Amaryllis steps close enough to grip his arm and kiss his cheek, it takes more strength than Arum knew he possessed to release the both of them from his grasp.

He does let them go, eventually, murmuring his affection close against their skin until they can no longer justify delay. He watches them leave, smiling despite the ache in his heart, despite the utter strangeness of being parted, at last, after so long beside them. He smiles, willing the Universe to grant them swiftness and safety.

The sooner they are home, the sooner he will see them again.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stay 'till you can breathe like normal people do  
I've got room in my house for you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of the road, huh? Never dreamed this fic would get this long, never dreamed it would mean this much to me. This is the longest piece of fiction I've ever written, and the longest work I've ever _completed_ by a country mile. Thank you for hanging in there with me. Thank you for reading. Thank you for every kudos and comment and bookmark. Thank you.
> 
> Chapter summary from the song Midland, by The Mountain Goats. Have I ever shared my playlist for this fic? See the end of the chapter notes, I'll stick a link there.

The first night on the road home is probably the most difficult.

It's-

It's the first time that Rilla has gone to bed without Arum in literal shouting distance in… in months.

She doesn't say anything about it. She doesn't know _what_ to say about it. Arum is safe, and she and Damien are going home, and they're _going_ to see him again. They _are_. It's stupid to get all emotional about the fact that they- they're just going to need to deal with a little separation, for a few weeks or so.

Damien douses the fire as Rilla steels herself, flattening her face, arranging their bedroll. Damien comes to lay down beside her, and when he slips his arms around her, she tries to sigh, and- her breath catches.

Damien does not flinch. He presses his lips just above her brow, and she can feel the sympathetic tension in his arms as they settle in the bedroll, curling against each other, as close as they can manage despite the heat.

"I know," he whispers, and Rilla grits her teeth. "I know, my love. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she manages. "Nothing to be sorry about."

"Of course it will be a challenge, this journey," Damien murmurs into her hair. "Especially this night. He is still so close, speaking relatively. So close we can still see that subtle, mellow glow from his swamp on the horizon. So close, and yet… riding away from him aches in my heart like a betrayal. We must, of course. Our duties, our lives… and I miss the Citadel as well. Miss the safety and warmth of your hut, miss… ah," she feels his lip curl into a small smile against her temple. "Ah, but there is the other side of the dilemma, yes? It is so difficult to think of your home, now, without…"

Without Arum there, too.

Rilla sniffs lightly, readjusting her grip on Damien beneath the heavy cloth, and then she pokes him in the side, making him exhale a gust of laughter.

"Faster we fall asleep, faster we'll be on the road again," she mutters. "Faster we're home, faster we'll find out exactly what the hell that plant he gave us actually _does_."

"Ah- right. I suppose you're right, my love."

"Just-" she clocks her head off his cheek, pursing her lips when that makes him laugh again. "Shush. Sleep now, mope later."

He hums an agreement, soft and soothing, and settles beside her. "Goodnight, my flower. I love you."

Rilla manages the ghost of a smile, feeling one of Damien's hands gently caressing up and down her back. "I love you too. Now go to sleep already."

He nods, light laughter still on his lips, and then he kisses her cheek one more time before he closes his eyes, and Rilla sighs and closes her eyes as well.

She doesn't exactly take her own advice, though.

The discomfort, the worry, the knowledge that she can't just call out and make sure that Arum's still okay- her mind won't slow down enough for sleep to take her, not for what feels like a long time.

It's okay, though. It's okay.

Damien is here with her. His hand keeps up that steady rhythm, his palm soft as his fingers trace up and down her back, gentle as rain, and clearly he's not exactly drifting off either.

They don't say anything else. Rilla thinks they both know it won't do any good, won't make them feel any better. They don't speak, but they can still hold each other, silent and longing despite themselves, and eventually, eventually, they will sleep.

And tomorrow they'll be another step closer to home.

* * *

The temperature in the Keep is the same as it always has been, but Arum finds himself cold, more often than not. The remainder of his injuries _itch_. Amaryllis left him with a number of salves to apply, to reduce the scarring, to speed the already-sped healing process, but it is… strange, to apply it himself. It felt different, before, smoothed across the ragged scabs by her soft, attentive, confident fingers. His own scales are cool. His own fingers do not hold the same softness. It feels perfunctory, now. Awkward and stiff. And-

When she finished tending to him, rewrapping bandages or checking his temperature or applying salve, Amaryllis would always… touch him, then. A gentle tap, on his shoulder, on his elbow. A silent signal, accompanied with a smile, to let him know she was done, before she would stand straighter and turn to attend to other tasks.

Once, when he is done smoothing his fingers across his fading wounds, he reaches across his body and taps his own elbow, hesitant, and then he feels so utterly foolish, so strangely _empty_, that he-

He does nothing. He simply _hurts_, for a long moment, before he sighs and sets the salve aside.

The Keep tries, in its way, to soothe this pain as it is soothing his actual injuries, but it is… not precisely the same. He is grateful for the Keep's attempts at physicality, grateful for the touch of vines, grateful to sleep cocooned in soft, oversized petals, even if it makes him feel like a coddled hatchling again.

("You're _healing_," Amaryllis says, stern and gentle. "Being rough on yourself is only going to make it take even longer. Just- let me take care of you, you big stubborn idiot.")

He misses her. He misses them both. He knew he would, before they left, but-

He spent so, so long missing the Keep. He is quite tired of _missing_.

* * *

During the day, they ride.

They can travel much more quickly, without needing to worry over the wounds of an injured monster. It will make the return trip substantially faster, but-

Neither of them _feel_ as if it is truly going faster.

It reminds Rilla of paradoxes. It reminds Damien of a chiasmus, the reversal with new perspectives. Neither of them discuss it, though they both urge the horse faster, both eye the horizon with skeptical intent, as if it is widening from them deliberately.

It _ is _ a relief, not to worry over Arum's safety while they ride, not to have to duck their heads and avoid the eyes of other travelers, not to need to lie. They don't need to slow down to check him over and make sure none of his injuries have started bleeding, they don't need to break from travel to find a safe place hidden far away from the road to rest in each night. It's another odd overlay- the hurt of leaving him behind shaded by the relief of knowing that he's safe, and home, and healing. Rilla can't stop herself from mentioning where she thinks he'll be in his recovery day by day, based on her estimates considering how the Keep seemed to be accelerating the healing process.

_Last of the bandages off, today, I'd bet_, she says, absent as they ride, her eyes distant, and Damien nudges the horse a little faster.

_Replacement wrap for the crack in his horn, today, I think_, she says, and Damien remembers the elegant curves that grace Arum's head, his throat aching.

_He should be shifting to the next set of exercises for his wrist around now_, she mumbles as they sit beside the fire. _He'd better've remembered_, she adds with a frown, and Damien pulls her even closer.

Rilla does not say that she misses him. Not in so many words. Damien follows her example, though he often finds himself glancing back the way they came, watching as the distance between the pair of them and Lord Arum grows, clutching his heart to stifle the bittersweet pang at his center.

In the small stolen bits of time when they are not riding, eating, or sleeping, Rilla likes to examine Arum's gift. She gently lifts the wrapped plant out from the saddlebag that has become its temporary home, settling it in her lap and squinting at it, observing the structure of the leaves, the colors, carefully easing her fingers into the dirt to determine the root structure.

She hasn't seen anything exactly like it before, she explains to Damien, and the intensity of her focus makes his heart thrum with fondness and familiarity. She narrows her eyes at the small stalk, the waxy purple and green leaves on the trio of branches at the top (Damien remembers Arum's glossy green scales, his violet eyes, and he aches again with longing), and she purses her lips. Native to the swamp, she decides. It must be. It doesn't… _seem_ magical, so she isn't sure what Arum could have meant when he gave it to them, but- well, it's not like Rilla has any of her more delicate instruments here on the road with her. She can't exactly test it, or put some cells under a microscope. She just does her best to water it enough to keep the soil wrapped at its base at a consistent moisture level, and she turns it over in her mind while she's prevented by pesky lack of resources from turning it over in reality.

Neither of them mention their fondness for the plant, either. It reminds them both of Arum, of the Keep, of the swamp, and even while Rilla frowns at her lack of knowledge, that reminds her of Arum _too_. It makes her scowl, and smile, and she wishes he was here to smack him for leaving her with a mystery _deliberately_, the sly monster that he is. She wishes he was here for a number of other reasons, too, but that's beside the point.

Damien, for his part, cannot say if he has ever had so many new verses dancing in his head at once. The plant is such a beautiful little metonymy, such a hopeful tether, and though he cannot help but yearn, his yearning still feels safe, like a source.

The nights…

The nights remain difficult. The midpoint of their journey is especially so- as distant from Rilla's home as they are from Arum himself, the night particularly dark this deep in the wilderness, comforted by each others arms and little else besides.

They wake bleary, but relieved to have put another night behind them. The help each other to their feet, and they ride.

* * *

The representative is halfway between the border of the swamp and the Keep when Arum finally allows the denizens of his swamp to do as they wish, to descend upon this unfortunate creature and chase him back out the way he came.

Arum steps from the portal just at the edge of his territory, just as the faun stumbles the final few steps backwards over the loose remnants of the border wall Arum and the Keep have been slowly dismantling, and the monster falls halfway into mud with a yelp and his hooves in the air.

Arum lifts a hand, and his denizens abandon their pursuit, birds and amphibians and mammals retreating back into the swamp and returning to their lives, and Arum looks down at the creature. He folds his arms primly behind himself, glaring hard over his snout until the faun notices him in his scrabbling.

He yelps _again_, losing his grip on a vine beside him and planting his face in the mud, and Arum tilts his head.

"No, no," he says, his voice low and murmuring and magnanimous. "By all means, take your time."

The creature pants, staring up at him, and then he scrambles backwards and rolls up on his hooves, his frame hunched in obvious terror.

"… Well?" Arum drawls after the panting silence draws long. "I don't expect you would have come this far for _nothing_, hm?"

The faun blinks, blank, and then he shakes his head quickly and his furry fingers fumble at the satchel at his side. "I- yes I- I have been tasked to deliver a m-message and-"

Arum takes a step closer, and the creature's words fly from his tongue, the muscles in his legs bunching as if to bolt. "A message…" he repeats slowly. "How… interesting."

The faun opens his mouth again, trembling, but the words seem to catch in his mouth as Arum looms.

"You, little creature," Arum says, very slowly, "look as if you have seen a _ghost_. Why, may I ask, would _that_ be the case?"

"I-" the monster bites his tongue, glances aside as if hoping for some sort of _help_, and then he looks to Arum again. "I was told- I was- you were supposed to be-"

"_Dead_?"

The faun flinches, and Arum does not let himself feel _guilty_, considering that this poor little fool is only adjacent to the situation. The point _needs_ be made, and since Arum cannot safely make it to the Senate in person this will have to do. He does soften the glare in his eyes, though, coiling his tail as he waits for the creature to respond.

"I am- I am to seek the current ruler of- of-"

"I am Lord Arum, ruler of the Swamp of Titan's Blooms," Arum says, flat and mild. "Will that suffice for you, then?"

The faun stumbles back another step, his shoulders hitting a tree. "I-I-I represent the _Senate_ a-and they have- have sent me to-"

"The last creature who spoke to me on behalf of your Senate tried to plant a blade in my _spine_." Arum tilts his head in the other direction, leaning down and close so he may hiss his next words eye-to-eye with this creature. "She _missed_. Do you believe that your aim will be more true?"

The faun swallows, visibly, his eyes wide and his hands trembling, though he seems too frightened, now, to try to move at all. "I… I am not- not an _assassin_, I am simply-"

"Delivering a message, as you said." Arum straightens, raising an eyebrow as he stares down his snout at the monster. "To the current ruler of the swamp." Arum grins, a conspicuous display of fangs. "_I_ am he. What missive did the Senate intend for me, then?"

With shaking hands, the faun pulls a scroll from the satchel at his side, and holds it out.

Arum takes the parchment gently, though the faun still flinches, and he reads the letter with careful attention, his brows climbing. He snorts, eventually, folding the paper between his claws and giving the courier an amused sort of look. "_The previous ruler of this swamp was killed in the effort to eradicate the human infection_," he parrots with half a laugh, and then he shakes his head. "I suppose that is _one_ way in which to spin the truth. _Was_ killed. A delightfully overt lack of active perpetrator in that claim, hm?"

The faun opens his mouth as if to reply, but then he simply gives a sharp nod, fear still obvious in his stance, in his eye, and Arum sighs.

"Well. You may _tell_ the Senate that if they wish to broker an alliance with the Lord of the Swamp, they may come to entreat him _personally_. As things stand, The Swamp of Titan's Blooms and its residents are no longer a part of the effort to eradicate humanity, nor do they acknowledge the leadership of the Senate. If the Senate wishes to plead its case they may do so _here_, where their deceit shall not find purchase. Otherwise," Arum growls low, "my lands may simply find _other_ allies. We may still, regardless of whatever overtures the Senate decides to make."

"Y-you- you want me t-to- to tell them-" the faun's eyes widen to saucers, his heartbeat approaching hummingbird speeds, and Arum decides to take pity.

"Hm. Yes, well. I suppose that there is no reason to give them excuse to blame the messenger. Wait a moment, then. Keep, parchment and ink, if you would."

The Keep does as asked, and the faun's eyes flick to the vines that appear from apparent nowhere to hand him his tools. The monster's body is prey-still, leaving aside the trembling.

Arum writes out his letter rather quickly. He has been thinking this through for long enough that he does not need more than a single draft. He rolls the parchment and slides it back into the case he had pulled the Senate's own letter from, and then he holds it out.

"Perhaps," Arum says, his voice low, "you should endeavor to leave the room _before_ they read that particular note, hm?"

After a long moment faun lifts his hands, nods, and gingerly tucks the letter back into his satchel.

* * *

Once he is safely back within his Keep, Arum laughs until tears prick at the corners of his eyes, laughs until his ribs hurt, and it doesn't even _matter_ how the Senate responds. Arum cannot find the place within himself to care. He will find a way to survive, to thrive, regardless of whatever those miserable fools decide to do about him.

Arum laughs, the last lingering ghosts of his injuries twinging at him, and he feels foolish, and wild, and _free_.

* * *

The hut sits just as they left it.

The windows are dark, the herb garden has grown a little scruffy around the edges, the flowers across the trellises drift slightly in the wind, and Rilla squeezes her arms around Damien before she swings down from the saddle. She lifts Arum's plant from the saddlebag as Damien dismounts as well, and he gives her a soft, tired smile before he leads his horse off towards her tiny one-horse stable by the edge of the trees.

There's a small, childish, illogical part of Rilla that expects Arum to be there when she creaks open the door. It's _stupid_, obviously, which is why she doesn't let herself feel disappointed when she finds the hut exactly as empty as it should be. She sets the plant aside first, dumps the rest of her bags in a corner, and goes to light the hearth.

When Damien finishes settling his horse and comes inside with the rest of their bags, Rilla has nearly finished moving the pile of notes in the corner of the kitchen to a new spot on one of her bookshelves, and she grins a little manically at him as he sets his bags down.

"I think I've got a pot big enough to replant this thing. Help me bring it inside?"

He smiles, and they're both exhausted but this is too important to wait. For both of them.

She scoops up some turned earth from the garden to mix with the wrapped soil around the roots of Arum's plant (no more than half again, she remembers, and she's very very careful about that particular measurement), and she and Damien maneuver a large, oval shaped pot into the space Rilla has cleared, at the corner of her kitchen and out of sight of the windows.

It looks so strange and incongruous there, purple and green and wild, and the scent of fresh earth mingles with the reassuring scent of the flames in the hearth, another unfamiliar addition. Damien rests a hand on Rilla's arm, his other hand pressing over his heart, and when he sighs Rilla feels her heart stumble as well.

"Well," she says quietly. "He said it would bloom _quickly_, but obviously it's not going to bloom right _now_." She lifts a hand, gripping Damien's hand and squeezing. "C'mon. Not gonna waste time watching for the pot to boil. Let's unpack, and put something together for dinner, yeah?"

Damien squeezes her hand in return, gives the plant one last lingering look, and then turns away to help her put their home to rights again.

* * *

Arum feels the Keep buzz through with excitement, hears it pull the portal open at his back, and he barely manages to set his tools down rather than simply dropping them to clatter on his workbench before he spins to see-

"-_miss_ him," Amaryllis says softly, and through the portal Arum sees her sat at their table in the warmth of the kitchen, sees Damien beside her, sees their foreheads ducked close together, Damien's arm wrapped around her shoulder, Amaryllis' hands cupping his face, their eyes gently closed. "Just- it's so _quiet_ and-"

"I know," Damien says, and Arum's heart feels as if it fluoresces within his chest at the poet's voice, finally- _finally_. "I miss him as well. But- patience, love. Surely, surely we can be patient." Damien nudges their foreheads together, smiling wryly, and the arm around Amaryllis' shoulders tightens as the doctor sighs. "We will see him again. We _will_."

"Sooner than you think, perhaps," Arum manages, mildly smug that his voice only shakes a _little_, and the humans both _gasp_, whipping their faces towards him, all shock and wonder and- _delight_. His throat goes tight, then, but he still manages to speak. Barely. "Amaryllis," he murmurs, too much feeling in his voice. "Honeysuckle."

They spring to their feet, and Arum cannot help himself. He rushes forward as well.

They collide just in the threshold of the portal, Amaryllis' barreling into his chest and knocking the air from his lungs, Damien's arms flinging around him with a joyous laugh, and-

And perhaps it does not matter, that Arum feels tears at the corners of their eyes. Not if the humans' eyes are bright with tears as well.

"_You_," Amaryllis growls, her arms tight and fierce around him, and then she leans back enough to swipe a hand over her eyes and scowl before she starts poking at him. "_Don't_ think you can waltz in all dramatic and get around me checking in on you- have you been applying-"

"Every single salve you left me with, like clockwork. Following the doctor's orders to the _letter_," Arum says, his voice an indulgent purr as Amaryllis' hands skate over his midsection, as she presses a palm over the scar on his back, examining him with critical, warm attention. He would attempt to hold up some degree of indignation about this, if he were not so undeniably, breathlessly happy to hear her complaints again at _last_. "As if I could possibly _ignore_ you, as if I could not feel the threat of your ire from miles and miles distant-"

Damien breathes something like a sob, his forehead pressed to Arum's shoulder, and Arum make a small, sympathetic noise, curling two arms around him and holding him tighter.

"Oh, little songbird-"

"Missed- missed even your _arguments_, my lily, I-"

"I missed you as well," Arum admits in a hiss, nuzzling into Damien's hair. "Missed you both, so much more than I knew I could."

The Keep sings behind him, a melody of teasing exasperation and fondness and delight, and Amaryllis leans back to grin, lifting a hand to touch the curling vines of the portal.

"_Keep_," she says, and she sounds so equally fond that Arum cannot help the little stab of adoration. "So, _has_ he been taking care of himself, then?"

The Keep warbles, affirming and warm, and Amaryllis turns her skeptical, playful gaze back towards Arum, her smile tilting in such a way that he thinks that perhaps she is content with his Keep's answer.

"So that's what the plant does, then? It lets you make a portal- nevermind the distance, weeks and weeks of travel away?"

"That is not it's _function_, precisely," Arum says. "It _has_ no function, it is simply… a piece of life, from my swamp. If I merely wished to grant myself a doorway to you- the plant itself… it was not necessary. The soil would have sufficed, in truth, for a short time at least, but-"

"But?" Amaryllis asks, looking up at him with more joy on her face than Arum knows what to do with.

"But this seemed… better. More… decisive. A scattering of dirt may be swept aside. I care far more for the both of you than such a simple gesture. This-"

The plant in the wide oval pot by Amaryllis' fireplace is vibrant, glossy, a stab of floral familiarity, shocking and incongruous in this place that Arum grew to know so well.

"You shared your home with me," he says, slow and certain. "It seemed only fitting to give you a piece of mine." He inhales, and he smiles as he continues. "Its roots are taking hold here now, just as mine have, alongside your own."

Damien makes another choking noise, and then his arms tighten around Arum even further, and he presses his lips to Arum's neck. "_Let us grow together_," he breathes against Arum's scales in a shaking voice, and Arum knows that cadence in his voice, knows the ringing of a poem in Damien's voice. "_Twined roots, fruits shared- bite by bite_." Damien smiles, lifts his head, cups Arum's cheek in a hand as he continues, his voice so warm and musical that Arum can hardly focus on anything besides. "_We tend to that which heals us_," he murmurs, "_each vine another trellis, braiding lines, lifting- towards the light_-"

Arum is too stunned by the words, hit too closely by them, and Amaryllis recovers more quickly, reaching up to brush the tears away from Damien's cheeks, pressing a kiss there as if to replace them.

"I think that's my favorite of the new ones," she whispers. "Thank you."

"Honeysuckle," Arum manages, after another moment, and then he leans down to echo Amaryllis' kiss on the poet's other cheek. "How you craft such beauty… it is quite beyond me."

"With such inspiration before me," Damien says in a quavering voice, "the words practically weave themselves."

"Will that stay?" Amaryllis asks suddenly, gesturing towards the portal.

"I could dismiss it, summon it back when it is needed," he says.

"Cool," she says, and Arum barks a shocked laugh as she tugs at his hands, pulling himself and Damien back towards the table, maneuvering them to sit and folding herself against his side with a hand on his chest, her fingers tapping in a rhythm that it takes him a few moments to realize-

She's tapping along to the beat of his heart. Her fingers drum a little faster, after that.

Arum swallows roughly, and then he nudges the Keep with his mind, and as it closes the portal, leaving the little plant behind in the corner (she placed it _precisely_ where he suggested- he will need to prod her later, discover where she fit that ream of notes and theories instead), Arum is grateful to still feel just the barest hint of the Keep's presence at the edges of his mind. The magic will settle here, yes, just as he did. If they want it to.

He exhales slowly, holding the both of them in silence for a long moment.

"I…" he murmurs eventually, uncertain. "I admit that I… worried, after you left, that perhaps this would be… a step too far. Too presumptuous, to grant myself a door directly into your home, but-"

"No-" Amaryllis shakes her head, lifting away enough to meet his eye. "Arum this is _incredible_\- can you just summon a portal _anywhere_?"

"Not anywhere," he corrects, mild. "Only within the Swamp of Titan's Blooms. Which…"

Amaryllis looks to the plant, more vivid purple now than it was when he gave it to her.

"You… you _literally_ gave us a piece of… you literally gave us a bloom from your swamp."

"Oh _Arum_," Damien keens, pressing another kiss to his throat. "Oh-"

"I… yes. It seemed the only thing to do," he says, ducking his head, flustered with his frill fluttering. "I… I knew…" he stops, furrows his brow, tries again. "The Keep is my home, my family. And I… I know, now, that I… I've grown to think of this place… I want this place to be my home as well. I want to be close by your sides. I want- you. I want to be a part of your lives."

"_Good_," Amaryllis says, but even in her nonchalance her voice is- trembling. Her hand presses hard over his heart, and the she presses her mouth to his in a lingering kiss. "Saints- Arum, we want you too."

"Want you always," Damien adds, tearful. "Oh, to be a home for you- to tend our garden together- oh Arum, oh lily we will hold you if you want us- we will keep you safe, warm-"

Damien interrupts himself, clearly shocking himself with a yawn, and Arum and Amaryllis both laugh at the look of mortification on his face.

"You are…" Arum presses his snout against Damien's temple when he can't find the words to voice what, precisely, Damien is. "Ridiculous," he settles on. "And clearly exhausted. The plant bloomed much more quickly than I was expecting, I think," he mutters, glaring in its direction without any heat. "I can still smell the road on the both of you. Have you gotten _any_ rest whatsoever since you've been home?"

Amaryllis rolls her eyes while Damien purses his lips in obvious guilt, and Arum stifles another laugh.

"Well. It seems it is _my_ turn to act responsibly for _once_. To bed with you. You certainly won't be rid of me so easily that you shall miss out on a single sleepless night of my presence. To bed," he repeats, "and I shall find mine as well."

Damien blinks, surprised again, and he and Amaryllis meet each other's eyes for a moment, something passing between them.

"What?" Arum grumbles. "What is it? I do not intend to let you wear yourselves out further for _my_ sake. Certainly you would not allow the opposite, were the tables turned."

"You- you want to sleep in the exam room again?" Amaryllis asks, her tone careful, and Arum-

Arum did not realize that there was another option open to him. Would she like for him to- return to the Keep?

He presses his expression flat, unbothered, and then he says, "Where… else?"

Damien and Amaryllis lock eyes again, and this time he can read a note of fondness before Amaryllis turns her attention back to him.

"Well…" Amaryillis trails off. "If you _want_ to sleep in there, you can. I haven't touched it since we got home, so it's still set up the same as when you left it, but-"

"But?"

Amaryllis ducks her head, then looks up at him through the fall of her hair, her smile soft and easy. "You… aren't my patient, Arum," she says, and he blinks. "Not anymore. If you want that to still be your bed here- I understand. You spent _ages_ there, I get it if that's where you're comfortable. But… we love you. We love you, and there's room in our bed for you, too. If you want it."

"If…" Arum trails off, his mind still catching on the belated realization that he- he may _ exist _ here, uninjured. A guest, not a patient, as he once imagined. "You… want me to…"

"We love you, Arum," Damien repeats, his tone unspeakably tender. "We want you. Every inch, every moment we may share is a treasure, a gift."

"Did it bother _you_ to have us share _your_ bed?" Amaryllis asks, and Arum wrinkles his snout.

"_Ridiculous_-"

"Exactly. So…" she bites her lip, and then she leans up, and kisses Arum on the cheek, her lips soft and warm against his scales. "Come to bed with us?"

That feeling again, as if his heart is glowing and warm, as if the light should be pouring out in shafts between his ribs. He presses his mouth against her own, an invitation, a request, and when she hums another kiss against his scales the light within him pulses hot.

"Please," he whispers, and with these two creatures in his arms, with the Keep a gentle presence at the edge of his mind, Arum knows that this is where he belongs.

* * *

The monster is barely conscious before he starts trying to pull the both of them closer.

Rilla can hardly blame him. If she wasn't worried about waking him too early, she would have tugged him into her arms _ages_ ago. He's too tired to do much more than give a mumbled breath, though, his greedy limbs stretching out to tug weakly at Rilla and Damien's sides. Damien hums himself awake at Arum's touch, and he smiles so, so wide before his eyes blink muzzily open, and then he looks down at the monster in his arms, and then up at Rilla with a watery smile. She grins right back, and then she obliges Arum's sleep-slack, greedy hands, and she folds herself against his chest, angling her chin up so she can press a kiss to his neck, and Damien embraces him from the other side, strong arms looped around Arum's chest, fingers tracing the ridges of his scales.

Arum murmurs something incomprehensible through his teeth, his eyelids fluttering, and as Rilla kisses him again he hisses a contented sigh, his violet eyes slitting open to meet her gaze in the gentle light of morning.

Rilla is so shockingly in love that her heartbeat stumbles, and Arum and Damien are safe within her arms.

(He’s so pleased, radiating such obvious contentment, and he is so entirely stunned to wake with them holding him. His cheek rests on her hand and he presses his face into it as he rouses, his scales already warm from their radiant heat and his breathing going sharper through his smile, and she feels a fierce sort of satisfaction at that, at the idea of soothing him awake like this again, and again, and again)

He growls lightly, nipping at her fingers and tugging the both of them closer against his chest, rumbling with a deep, inhuman purr.

She almost can't believe there was a time when she thought of him only as a monster.

In their arms, in their bed, in their home. He is _their_ monster. Safe, and healed, and loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you. I love you. Thank you. For further feelings, my playlist for this fic lives [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/57WUgRYCtR6y3gnTJDtzPF?si=19PChDtLTBiCv7_0_BBrIg).
> 
> this note has been sitting at the end of this document since it was only three lines of goofy plot ideas.
> 
> [……… profit????]


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